Compromised
by CruelYouth
Summary: Loki paused, turning his head slightly to eye the Avengers. "I think not, Agent Barton," he lifted the blade to the exposed flesh of Natasha's neck. He dipped his head lower, mouth close to her ear and inquired softly, "Feel like pleading for your life?" Slight Clint/Natasha/Loki love triangle.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Avengers or Thor intellectual property or characters, which all belong to Marvel. This work of fanfiction is intended to be transformational commentary on the original and purely for enjoyment. No profit is being made from this work.  
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**Pairing:** Loki/Natasha and some Natasha/Clint

**A/N:** I have officially become an Avengers fan. Of course I couldn't resist the scent of a new fandom emerging. ^-^ I too have given in to the Loki/Hiddleston craze. I enjoy Loki's character for his complexities and desire for equality in the face of sibling favoritism. He reminds me of Severus Snape a bit, to be honest. Sometimes I draw parallels between Loki and Thor and Snape and James. ...I'm such a nerd, I don't even...

**Thank you for taking the time to read my story!**

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**Prologue**

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_"No, Loki."_

_The aching disappointment and pity in the eyes of the All-Father were more than he could bear; the pained child who had tried to destroy an entire civilization in exchange for his father's appraisal. He had suspected it was futile to justify the madness of his actions, nevertheless an appeal had left his mouth before he could stop it._

_He was but a means to an end; a political intent born from the whim of Odin the King of Asgard, who believed he could raise a ghastly Frost Giant as his own and someday unite Jotunheim and Asgard. All along, the god of Mischief and lies himself, had been a lie. And even as a Jotun, he was still unwanted, abandoned by his real father because of his slights and left to die. Ultimately, he belonged nowhere._

_There was nothing else to live for._

_Ignoring Thor's cries, Loki released his tenuous hold on the golden spear, Gungnir, his inherited weapon during his brief ascension to the Throne of Asgard. In the fleeting moment of his fall before the wrench of the menacing celestial maelstrom claimed him, he took one final look at the aged Odin who was once his 'father' and to the one he loved, his 'brother.'_

_He wondered if he would even be mourned..._

_In time, they would forget..._

_Farewell._

_Calmly, Loki turned away to meet his fate; his body hurled rapidly toward the unknown darkness at the center of the spiraling wormhole caused by the devastating destruction of the Bifrost. His eyes stared bravely forward until he was violently swept away by swirling tendrils of stardust and plunged into nothingness._

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_The negative space was terrifyingly accurate as had been described to him as a child. He had, admittedly, traveled deeper into the realms of nihility than he'd initially intended. Like a black abyss, the distinct absence of light... of warmth... chills ran down his spine but only silence and shadow dwelt. It was a wonder any creature managed to survive in such a lifeless realm._

_In Asgard, little was known about these lands. Loki had only ever heard whispers; Whispers of creatures most terrible that some dared not even name. Those deemed the unworthy had been banished to the darkest and most desolate crevices of Yggdrasil. He'd often imagined what secrets these negative realms held, longing to expose them. As children, he and Thor dreamed of conquering them, becoming legends; The exalted ones, the ones who had slain the monsters of glutton and wrath!_

_But Loki was not the noble gladiator his younger self had dreamed of. He was, in fact, one of the monsters._

Perhaps this is where I belong_, Loki had once thought, wandering through the lost lands, searching for what he craved; seeking his revenge. He was met with scorn, with creatures that knew of power and fear beyond the Asgardians' wildest imaginations. Word of Loki's downfall had traveled swiftly throughout the realms. It was a story that haunted him throughout his travels. A great prince. Son of the All-Father. Fallen._

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_Earth's inhabitants were nothing but sniveling rodents, procreating to the point of overpopulation, constructing and maintaining political systems that only served to destroy themselves and the world they lived in. With every reinvention, humans deluded themselves into thinking that their faiths, logic, or science would successfully uncover the mysteries of life and the universe. They seemed doomed to repeat these foolish ambitions._

_The first explorations of Midgard had been those among the Asgardian voyagers centuries ago. Many had remained fond of the fledgling civilization of Earth and visited the planet periodically; some even going so far as to take up residence there. Why that was, Loki couldn't fathom. As a child, he'd periodically read accounts from the written journals and records of these explorers and always found a common pattern of ignorance, oppression and violence that greeted Asgardian travelers in their interactions with humans._

_Perhaps it had been because the humans knew not of magic and hailed the Aesir visitors as gods and goddesses._

_At an early age, Loki had taken up the practice of sorcery. Growing in the shadow of his mighty brother, he'd always found himself second best. Loki'd never been exceptionally skilled at physical combat like Thor and most of the Aesir, but he'd found that he possessed a natural affinity to command great magical forces. Unfortunately, he had never received the recognition and respect that he'd expected, and certainly deserved. Loki had always hoped to somehow use these powers to become a most powerful god of Asgard, and to show Thor what he was capable of._

Ceasing his inner tirade, Loki sighed heavily.

Fury had been correct; the Tesseract could present its user with unlimited power; it would answer to Loki. Then, and only then, would he have what he needed to prove his worth to all those who doubted him. A mortal had once tried to master the vessel decades previous, seeking the power of the gods. From what Loki had read in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hacked databases about the man called, the 'Red Skull', he had been on the right path, yet had failed the simplest of tests.

Failure was not an option for Loki, not anymore.

He straightened almost instantly, watching in Thor's hand, Mjölnir crawling with electricity. Loki swung his scepter just in time to block his three more blasts in his direction, striking Thor hard in the chest. Thor's fist then collided with Loki's jaw, knocking him off balance. Their fight came to a standstill when the thunder god cornered Loki on the scaffold of Stark Tower, trapping him against the wall, holding him in place. Loki glared defiantly at his brother, though inside he felt his heart tearing apart to be facing him like a common enemy.

"Look around you, Loki!" Thor yelled, gesturing down at the city that was now engulfed in bedlam. "Do you think this chaos will end with your rule?"

Turning his gaze down towards the smoldering buildings, structures collapsing into rubble, taking in the havoc that the Chitauri were wreaking on the humans, their panicked forms scurrying for shelter, he felt a pang of regret. He looked up into the imploring, pleading eyes of the god of Thunder.

"It's too late," Loki said, despair coloring his tone. "You can't stop it. No one can."

Thor shook his head.

"We can, Loki," he insisted, voice full of hope. "Together."

_Together._

Like they had so many times in the past; side by side in battle. But how could he? If he were returned to Asgard, the Council would be sure to give the harshest of punishments for his crimes. Seeking out the Other, promising the Tesseract in exchange for an army to conquer Earth, all to spite Thor for living in his shadow. He had even gone that extra step by placing Eric Selvig under his control. Attempted genocide, the near-destruction of New York City... these were no petty charges and sanctioned a lifetime banishment to Niflheim, or worse.

Loki summoned his energy, and a small blade materialized into the palm of his hand. Before his conscience could quash his decision, he swiftly plunged the metal into Thor's side, though his second of hesitation saw that the blade only pierced the surface. Despite that, Thor released him and dropped to one knee, gasping in pain.

"Sentiment," Loki muttered, quietly berating himself for his moment of weakness.

He had come too far to let anything stop him now.

Timing his leap, Loki managed to land on the back of a passing Chitauri aircraft, adrenaline humming in his veins. He turned back to the Tower, a sense of relief washing over him as he observed his brother rise to his feet and simply toss Loki's blade aside. The wound would prove to be of little hindrance to Thor. Though he smothered it with his determination to claim the respect and admiration he yearned.

Loki might've been able to face warriors in the sparring ring, battle Jotnar and Jotunn, or defeat the countless hordes of Midgardian soldiers, but even he could not defeat 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes' with their Jormungandr-stalwart of a monster, their man of iron, the man with eyes like a hawk, the woman with the sharp mind and agile body, and their captain. Not indefinitely, but he was beginning to feel depleted in power and ability.

Most unfortunately, sometime during the tumultuous battle he had lost hold of his scepter.

Loki sped through the air, dodging bullets and debris. Out of the corner of his eye, he easily spied Barton's arrow streaking toward him and caught it, smirking. But in the next second, a mechanism clicked and the arrow exploded, catapulting Loki off the aircraft and back onto the top of Stark Tower along with Agent Romanov, or better known by her moniker, 'The Black Widow'.

He growled angrily. How did he, the god of Mischief, become so mocked? How did someone of far more superiority, both intelligently and cunningly, be bested by a group of freakish humans? It was all wrong; so very, very wrong. He was about to attack the redhead when he was charged by the Hulk, both crashing through windows, landing in Stark's common room.

"ENOUGH! I am a GOD you dull creature and I will not be bullied by— !"

The next thing he knew, he'd been snagged by one ankle in a crushing-tight grip being brutally, violently thrashed about like a rag doll and then on the ground with the wind knocked out of him.

Loki lay there in possibly the most pain he'd ever experienced, breath leaving him in a low wheeze as the oafish creature marched back the way he had come, muttering "puny god" and rejoining the battle. Allowing his magic to heal some of his wounds, which seemed like many agonizing hours later, he was finally able to move his limbs.

Loki craned his neck to look up at the sky above Stark Tower, seeing Chitauri still pouring through the portal. His gaze followed the beam of light that connected the portal to the Tesseract. He slowly sat himself up, hoping to find that Eric Selvig had retrieved the scepter when he'd dropped it, however, he found it not in the hands of Selvig, but in the hands of one Agent Romanov.

"Damn it," he whispered.

Loki could hear her speaking through her earpiece: "Guys, I can close the portal. I can close it." Though unable to make out the other end of the conversation, something she was told must have been terrible news, because her normally inscrutable eyes grew wide, and for a split second, Loki thought he detected fear within them.

"What is it? What did they say?" Selvig asked, voicing the Trickster's exact thoughts.

"A nuke is set to destroy the city," she answered breathlessly. "Stark's going to try and put it through the portal."

Selvig, clearly scandalized, held his composure and nodded.

Loki glanced around, searching for Stark's distinct crimson and gold armor. It took him a moment, but he finally spotted the Metal man, flying directly toward their position, guiding a giant missile with his body. Stark drew nearer to the Tower, and at the last second was able to shift the missile upward, toward the open portal. Loki held his breath as Iron Man sped into the portal. Sighs of relief followed from Romanov and Selvig.

A moment later the light of an explosion was visible from the other side of the portal and all around the city, the devastating sounds of the Chitauri falling lifeless could be heard. However, he knew that they needed to close the portal before the baleful rift from the explosion poured through, but Romanov seemed to be stalling in hopes that Stark would return through it. Loki thought for sure they would run out of time.

However, in one fluid movement she stepped forward, and with calm resolve, pushed the tip of the scepter into the blue core of the Tesseract, disrupting it and causing the portal to close. Romanov looked up and smirked as a single small figure fell through the portal just before it closed.

Loki shifted his body slowly, his armor weighing him down, only to come face-to-barrel with Agent Romanov's cocked gun. He continued to smile as she radioed the rest of the team, informing that she had him in custody.

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Loki was experiencing a plethora of different emotions as he was marched, bound and gagged, into a clearing in Central Park by Thor, surrounded by the proud faces of the Avengers.

He took advantage of that short time to study them all, commit them to memory, for what purpose, he had only an inkling of for now.

Of them all, only a few stood out to him. Bruce Banner had been the one to actually take him down. His frightening strength, when in his other form, was not something Loki wished to ever be on the receiving end of again; he could still feel the bruises from the beast's attack. Tony Stark, for all his childish arrogance, had made the sacrifice play to save the world. The Man of Metal had earned a grudging respect from Loki.

Finally, Natasha Romanov caught his eye. He watched her turn to Clint Barton and whisper something in his ear. Hawkeye smirked, not taking his eyes off Loki.

They were now eye to eye, and only then did he notice how small this deadly woman was; thin, yet statuesque, she had the heightened mystery of a Vanir goddess. He scowled under his gag. Very few could manage to effectively sneak up on Loki and best him at his own game, but one of those few was this fascinating, human woman. The irony of it was not lost on him. Loki had underestimated Agent Romanov's ability.

Further observance was interrupted by Thor, who was now offering him one end of the device designed to transport them back to Asgard, using the power of the Tesseract.

_Asgard. The only home he had ever known was now lost to him. Although his true nature was that of a Frost Giant, he couldn't imagine ever building a life for himself among his 'own kind' in the Realm of Jotunheim. They were strangers to him. Their customs, their beliefs, their ways, all alien as he would be to them. He was Jotun purely by blood, but ideal Asgardian to the core. He had Odin the All-Father to blame for that._

With an odious glower at his elder brother, Loki reached out and took hold of the device. Thor activated it and they were swallowed up by a bright flash of blue light.

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**A/N: Review, please! Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Avengers or Thor intellectual property or characters, which all belong to Marvel. This work of fanfiction is intended to be transformational commentary on the original and purely for enjoyment. No profit is being made from this work.  
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**On Black Widow's leftist political views: **_"...her left-wing upbringing was put to better use, and she has lately taken to fighting realistic oppressor-of-the-people types. She helps young Puerto Ricans clean up police corruption and saves young hippies from organized crime." -Daniels, Les. __Comix: A History of Comic Books in America_

**A/N:** Oh, and for you Resident Evil fans, I purposefully named it "The Manhattan Incident" just like "The Mansion Incident" because I'm such a nerd. ^-^**___  
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**[Trigger Warning: PTSD flashback]  
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_If we choose, we can live in a world of comforting illusion - Noam Chomsky_

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Thick, ominous clouds had crept in with the setting of the sun, obscuring the moons and adding an additional layer of mystery to the grim proceedings.

They reached the golden hall, approaching the royal throne, Hlidskjalf, and the Council of Asgard, with guards tailing them from every direction. Loki's eyes dart around as they go, swift and observant; the entire hall itself seemed to glower down at him. Frigga, the All-Mother, made a soft, wounded noise when he was shoved to his knees in front of them.

Loki glared silently at the floor before looking up at the King who had raised him from infancy. _The fool._ He had been granted his powers for a reason: to rule. Yet, the old cur insisted on keeping his diplomatic relations with the other realms. _Pathetic._ The expression on the All-Father's face was one of grim pity and he appeared weakened. Loki clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to scream at him, but the gag left him with no choice but to remain silent. But underneath it all there was a simmering, bitter resentment, plain for all to see.

_This is the monster you created, Father. Revel in your genius._

"Loki," Frigga said, and his eyes snapped up to his Queen and mother's teary-eyed, pale face. "My son, my darling," she sniffed, and after everything Loki had done, he had not expected Frigga to throw herself at his feet, to kneel beside her disgraced younger child.

Loki gasped and gladly leaned forward into her soft embrace as she cupped his face in her warm hands. Even when he'd been a child, Loki's fears and anxieties had seemed to melt away under Frigga's gentle fingers.

_"Mother,"_ Loki croaked under his gag, emitting not even a sound, and it was no trouble at all to pull against Thor's hold, free his arms, and wrap himself around the woman who cared for him; the chains bounding him clanking against her dress.

"I love you," she murmured against his cheek, words spoken so quietly that no one else could hear them.

She placed slow, soft kisses on his cheeks, his brow, the lids of his eyes, and Loki held her close; the blessed closeness, the solid familiarity of her affection.

"Loki," Odin said finally, "you broke our hearts. I thought you dead; we all thought you dead." His voice was calm; not the proud calm of a leader, but of a father: disappointed, quiet, and perhaps a little wounded. "And discovering you were alive, only to have Heimdall inform us that you were attacking Earth with an alien army... It pains me."

Frigga looked at Loki, and in her eyes he could see sadness, loss, grief... and love. In Frigga's eyes, Loki could see understanding, and for that he smiled ever so faintly. But she must conceal her expression, replacing it with a mask of polite disinterest: the quiet dignity of the crown. In silence, the Queen of Asgard turned back to her throne.

Loki felt grateful for that moment.

"How could you betray us, my son?" Odin hissed suddenly, glaring at his adoptive son with his one eye. "You have done naught but commit atrocities to the Nine Realms you once swore to protect!" He was standing now. "Your cunning grows unkinder as the days pass... We raised you to be a kind and honorable man, not a tyrant!"

The members of the Council of Asgard stood on their high rises then, surrounding Hlidskjalf, making Loki feel even smaller. They were dressed in velvet robes of crimson with silver masks to conceal their faces.

"Loki Odinson," the Council Leader spoke finally, her voice heavy. "You stand before the Council of Asgard under the crimes of attempted annihilation of the realm of Jotunheim, accomplice in the murder of many human lives, and acting with a known villain in the theft of the Tesseract. Do you deny these accusations?"

He shook his head, and immediately angry voices from the groups of bystanders began shouting.

"_He's torn apart this entire kingdom over a foolish obsession to best Thor and claim the throne of Asgard!_"

"_Leave the treacherous half-breed to the Chitauri warlords!_"

"_There is no place for him among the Aesir!_"

Among the many voices arguing Loki's fate, a few plead for leniency. Baldur, the god of Light, was one of them to Loki's surprise. The debate continued only for a few moments longer until the Council Leader raised her hand.

"Under the edict of Valhalla, the duty rests upon the Council to sentence you to the highest punishment." She hesitated for only a moment, and continued, "Bound by chains where venom shall drip onto your body every passing day and this until Ragnarok ends the worlds as we know them. You, Loki Odinson, shall not be known for valor of any kind. Tales will only be told of your mischief and fierce disregard for life and all that is good—"

Thor interrupted suddenly.

"It is true that Loki has been led astray and was misguided in his actions on Earth, but the same was true of myself, when I acted so rashly and charged into Jotunheim without the King or Queen's permission." He knelt down on one knee, and bowed his head, a tear visible from underneath the curtain of his blond hair. "The All-Father sent me into exile, and I learned much during my time there; I realized the error of my ways!"

The hall was quiet as the King and Queen seemed to be considering his proposal.

"I, Thor Odinson, request this of you most humbly, All-Father. Give Loki a chance to redeem himself, just as you did for me."

They turned to the Council and began discussing mutely, under their breaths. Frigga gave a curt nod of her head to Odin, who turned back to face them, heaving a great sigh. He finally nodded his head.

"Very well," he declared, pontificating to all. "I will grant this chance, for even though our blood is unlike, Loki is still my son... However, no ornamental words can change the fate of countless innocents who have perished under Loki's wrath, and through his actions, have brought upon us all a threat of imminent war. His hands have become stained with terrible offenses and repentance is indeed, necessary."

The Council seemed to understand the King's implications.

"Your source of power, your magic," he spoke to Loki, hints of guilt flashing in his eye, "will be stripped from you, and you shall be forced to subsist without them during your imprisonment."

Loki's heart clenched and his eyes widened.

They each nodded to the other before finally reaching a closing decision and the Council Leader spoke again, "The All-Father doth grant a mighty testimony. We, the Council, agree with his judgment. May the sentence be made!"

"Loki Odinson, god of Mischief," the All-Father roared, radiating all the dignity and power Loki remembered so well, "you owe a sacred debt to all of humanity, and until you have proven your worth, from this day forth, I banish you to the Prisons of Silence and to never again see the light of Asgard, nor feel the power of your sorcery!"

Odin motioned for the hall's silence with a commanding motion, Gungnir in hand, and Loki swallowed, preparing himself. Loki had expected to face something like this eventually, but the sudden iron weight pressing down on his chest was nothing he had ever prepared himself for.

Mimicking the gesture that had been done to his eldest son a small time before, Odin proceeded to rip Loki's helmet off his head.

"Heimdall will be observant of your actions, Loki," their mother interjected suddenly. "We will anxiously await your hopeful return."

Loki's eyes reflected the depths of honest sorrow and his every muscle was slumped. His crimes would no doubt come back to haunt him, but what choice did he have? It was a better alternative than death, at least.

"Good. Well, then—"

"Hold, Father," Thor contested. "If it is acceptable, I would like to have words with my brother in private before he must go. Do I have permission?"

"Yes... but do not tarry long, Thor. His hourglass empties little by little with each moment that is wasted here."

"Come. Walk with me, Brother." Thor gestured for Loki to follow him out of the golden hall via one of the multiple side exits. Once they reached the grand dining halls, and made sure they were alone, Thor stopped and walked over to him, reaching behind his head and unbuckling the infernal mask that was keeping him from saying anything. When it was finally gone, Loki sighed and brought both bound hands up to rub at his cheeks, opening and closing his jaw slowly.

"You might have put that damned thing on me a little more loosely, Thor," he said angrily, lowering his hands. "My tongue was nearly going numb."

Thor shook his head; the anger had been replaced with a beseeching despair that was so unfamiliar for the mighty thunder god.

Loki suddenly materialized himself behind Thor's back, savoring the sharp intake of breath his favorite trick elicited. "Why?"

The elder brother raised a wary hand to rub his eyes. "What is it you mean, Loki?"

"Why did you convince Father to spare me?" he nearly demanded. "I have wronged Asgard, Earth, you... After all I have done, why would you even _consider_ allowing me a second chance?"

"You have been by my side since childhood, Loki. I cannot just give up on you."

The brothers stared at each other before Loki began to slowly pace towards a mahogany chair and leaned against it. Tilting his head, he asked, "Had you seen Jane during your stay on Earth?"

"No," Thor replied sullenly. "She required relocation after you captured Erik Selvig."

"Of course, meeting her had been your _punishment_, had it not?" Loki spat, his tone instantly turning into one of malevolence. "As it always were, the golden son of Asgard, unable to do wrong."

Clenching his fists, Thor reprimanded, "Stop this, Brother! I admit that I have made many mistakes. But we are brothers! The All-Father and I love you—"

Loki's eyes flashed with pure rage. "And I made the mistake of believing I could gain the respect of a father who only ever saw me as a wretched Frost Giant!"

"That is not true! Despite of everything that has happened, he still wishes to help you. I love you...and I know you love me too, Loki."

"I am not your brother, Thor," the raven hair male said solemnly. "We've been over this. You know very well of my true form..."

"Does this now vanish the numerous centuries of family history? We were raised as brothers, as family, and I never turn my back on those I care about!"

Loki was unsure of what to say. Thor's words struck him deep, and his brow furrowed with sadness. Under his pale, white skin, he knew his veins flowed with Jotun blood: his concealed, traitorous heritage. Perhaps the endearment Thor sent his way was falsified, but he was not so sure. _I'm not going to fall for it. Not again. Never will I fall prey to their weakness. Once I regain my strength, I will show them, show them their great error. No longer will I walk in Thor's shadow. Not I..._

"I do not deny my guilt, but in this case... I was coerced." There was a pause but Loki did not raise his head. "When they came upon me... the Other formed some sort of connection with my mind..." he continued, making a face and biting at his cheek, eyes focused on the far wall, lost in memory for a moment. "Through this we were able to communicate and they were able to..." he shuddered and winced, "Let us say, it was not a pleasant experience. Yet it went both ways. While we were... _connected_, I was able to glean much of their plans for the Tesseract."

Dejectedly, his brother pushed a strand of blond hair out of his face and moved toward Loki until there was very little distance between them. Thor rested his hands on both of the dark-haired god's shoulders, gazing at him with pained eyes.

"This imprisonment, I do not think it wrong… But it pains me to see you like this. I know you can atone for your misguided actions, Loki, and regain your honor once more. You may be bitter towards Father for keeping the truth from you, but he loves you just as he loves me. After you fell into that abyss, he and Mother shed many tears of grief for you for months. We all mourned you..."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"So you know that when you succeed in this task given to you, you will have a home to return to and a family that loves you."

_So be it then._

Loki returned to accept his sentence. Before he knew what was happening, he was being ejected from Asgard via one of the several, smaller pathways that were now a necessity ever since the Bifrost had been shattered by Thor. Time seemed to slow, images blurred, and suddenly, Loki was writhing in pain, suffocating as it felt like he was being torn apart. As he fell, he felt the magic within him weakening until it was no more.

Everything went black.

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**5 Months Later...**

_"They are a part of you...and they will never go away."_

Loki's words swirled in Natasha's head as she examined data in the newly expanded Stark Tower, standing next to Virginia 'Pepper' Potts (personal executive to CEO of Stark Industries) as Tony Stark concluded his meeting in the position of intermediary for an overseas merger. After five months, the clean-up of New York was still in progress, but many people had pitched in, even corporations donated generous sums of money toward its reconstruction hoping to return the city to its former prestige. Unfortunately, the ramifications of the alien invasion forced a massive restructuring of the United States' defense network.

They were most fortunate to have defeated the aliens Loki had brought into their world, but with such looming threats, the Avengers could not risk letting their guard down. Everything should have felt warm and fuzzy, but Natasha was still on edge. Their hard-earned victory had not felt so victorious.

"What are your thoughts?"

Stark asked her, frowning at the designs on the holographic screen. It held an intricate dissection of the mechanics of the scepter Loki had wielded but without the power of the Tesseract. After his defeat and capture, S.H.I.E.L.D. had confiscated it with the intent to produce a prototype device that worked on gamma rays to inhibit magic in case Earth ever succumbed to a similar threat. Recognizing that Stark was their best hope, they negotiated with him and Banner so that the two scientists could undertake the development themselves.

"It's certainly impressive," Natasha said, folding her arms across her chest. "The Council wanted to continue Phase 2 without the Tesseract, but Fury somehow convinced them against it."

"Hey the next time Earth is threatened, maybe they'll regret their continued insistence that the Avengers are a 'threat to global security'."

"More like a threat to corrupt politics," Natasha said cynically. "Banner's had his anger well-contained; it's not a justifiable reason."

"Speaking of contained, how are you enjoying your _luxurious_ stay at Hotel Avengers, Agent?" Stark asked with his usual air of humor.

She smirked and replied, "Well, it's certainly an improvement to shady, rodent-infested motels and apartments."

"I'm touched," he dramatically put a hand on his heart. "But really, it was Pepper who came up with the design for the floors," Tony remarked, giving Pepper her due credit.

The blond snorted. "I'm still a little confused as to why you made a room for...err..." Pepper drew off, trying to recall the name.

"Thor?" he supplied, and she snapped her fingers with a nod. "Well, Point Break will be back someday; hopefully, soon because I need his hammer to test VOID out on—"

"JARVIS, transfer all data from recent energy scans into Project VOID file."

"_Right away, Sir_," came the disembodied voice of Tony's artificial intelligence butler.

Pepper pulled Stark into a romantic kiss then, and Natasha happily allowed them their privacy. It had come as a bit of a shock to many, that the self-proclaimed 'Playboy' had initiated a steady relationship with a woman, but Tony and Pepper seemed perfect together.

She began making her way up the circular stairwell to the next floor where the Avengers' living quarters were until a familiar voice called out to her.

"Agent Romanov, Ma'am, how are you feeling?"

The former Soviet spy turned to see the handsome, blond superhero walking towards her. Steve Rogers appeared exhausted and sweaty, and Natasha figured he'd just come from the gym. The man had been managing life much better than he'd done a year ago. During his time, Captain America served as both a symbol of freedom and the nation's most effective soldier, dedicated to his country. Unfortunately, that dedication had rendered him frozen in the arctic waters of the North Atlantic for 70 years. S.H.I.E.L.D. felt a responsibility in helping him cope with the new world, so they had provided Steve an apartment, but with Stark's amplified living quarters for the Avengers, the Captain preferred being around his new acquaintances.

"Recovering."

After years of intense cognitive training, Natasha was irritated that Loki had been able to claw into her head. Of course, that had been his intention, attacking the Avengers one by one, and she'd been able to cleverly play it off like it was all a part of her strategy, but if the femme fatale were honest with herself, his words really had triggered her.

She watched as he dabbed his face with the towel he'd had wrapped around his neck, and asked, "Has Stark been having you watch the news?"

Chuckling, the Captain nodded, "It's just like back in my day. I keep seeing my picture on the front cover of newspapers... Did you know they made toys out of us too?"

"Unfortunately," she scoffed. "I think they used Catwoman's body for my action figure, and just added bright red hair."

They laughed, though Natasha's was more of a snicker.

"Stark loves his."

Natasha rolled her eyes, snorting in disgust. She then continued down the hallway for her place which happened to be close by.

Steve stared down at his hands for a moment before running after her, "Miss Romanov?"

The redhead stopped in her tracks, turning to correct him, "Please, Captain, call me Natasha."

"Yes, ma'am, I mean, Natasha," he corrected, a rosy tint coloring his cheeks, before hesitantly trying to initiate small-talk. "So, do you have any hobbies? I mean, I only ever see you train and go out on missions."

Furrowing her eyebrows, she replied, "Not really."

"But... don't you do anything else?"

Natasha never allowed anyone too close, intentionally or unintentionally. Except for Clint. "I sleep and eat."

Steve let out a small laugh. "Well, I was just thinking..." he began shyly, scratching the back of his head and looking down at his feet, "Would you... like to go get some breakfast?"

Natasha gauged his expression, trying to figure out exactly what his intentions were.

"Steve, are you asking me on a date?"

"I guess I am. Would you prefer me not to?"

At this she was truly stunned. The agent had been proposed a date, a sentiment rarely thrown her way. When she was forced to go undercover for S.H.I.E.L.D., occasionally she would be required to go on pseudo-dates as part of the mission, and only rarely did she flirt with people for information (i.e. Tony Stark). The Black Widow was far too lethal to even be thought of as a serious, romantic interest. This all suited Natasha well, though. She preferred to not share her bed.

Upon seeing him still standing before her, she blinked her eyes.

"No, I think breakfast sounds nice," she admitted with a small smile. "I know of a decent, little secluded place on Fourth Avenue that would be perfect."

The Captain's eyes lit up.

"All right. At least a few things haven't changed."

And Steve was ever the gentleman. Of course, Natasha had expected the old-fashioned chivalry, but she couldn't deny that it made her extremely uncomfortable. He would open doors for her, offered his helmet while on his motorcycle, a modified, 1940's style Harley Davidson. He even offered to order her meal for her.

"You know, Steve, chivalry is pretty much dead these days," Natasha chuckled before popping a piece of strawberry into her mouth. "You missed the second wave feminist movement that really changed things, and are currently in the third."

Steve joined in on her amusement, "Well, I guess I'll just have to ride that wave."

Natasha took a drink of her glass of orange juice before cutting into another one of her crepes.

"In Russia, the women are a bit more aggressive than here in the States."

"I didn't know that," he confessed, pouring syrup onto his buttermilk pancakes. "Although, I can't say I've been able to shake the bad feelings I have for your country."

"No offense taken, Cap," the ex-Soviet assured. "I am just as willing to criticize the Russian political system as the US's. But I have to warn you, I _am_ a child of the Bolshevik Revolution, so my politics are very far-left on the political spectrum."

Natasha realized she probably wasn't being a very good date. After all, this was very atypical for her. _It's just an outing with a friend. A real date. _Had she even ever been on one before? Perhaps with —

"So how's Barton doing?" the Captain asked, breaking the silence first.

Her face deadpanned.

"He's better. Though he still feels guilty for the things he did while under Loki's control."

"But we all know it wasn't his fault," Steve protested. "He couldn't have done anything about it."

Her BlackBerry began vibrating.

"Director Fury," she said grimly, preparing herself for the assignment of another mission.

After the incident, Fury had been assailed with questions from all different spectrums of the world. The US government, media, foreign countries, non-profit organizations, the United Nations; all vying for the truth behind what had been termed, "The Manhattan Incident". Unfortunately, the Council had decided to concoct a clever cover-story for the public.

"Agent Romanov, I need you and Barton in," Fury said as his image blurred slightly on the LCD screen.

The older man's intense gaze clearly implied the seriousness of the situation, and the tight frown on his face displayed his apparent annoyance; at whom, she did not know.

"Sorry, Captain, duty calls."

Steve paid for their meals despite Natasha's protests, and they rode back to Stark Tower together, eventually parting ways.

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* * *

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Natasha Romanov could hack into the most complex security systems without tripping any firewalls or even batting an eyelash, but it had taken her years to trust just one man.

_Budapest and Moscow, Prague and Bratislava, a Super 8 in Boston and a Grand Hyatt in Hong Kong, and always, always him, smirking at her with those gray, hooded eyes, speaking kind words of respect and forever armed, riding out the horrors of his childhood, he still turned her way, no matter how many years passed._

He was in his nest as usual, crouched over, working on grafting his stun arrows to make them emit the paralysis toxin quicker into the human body.

"You know that kind of inattentiveness will get you killed."

Natasha said, approaching Clint Barton from behind.

Turning to see his partner nearing him, he softened his stance a little. The two agents had fought alongside each other for years and there was no need to keep their guards up around one another. Clint was the only man she trusted. The two had continued their missions for S.H.I.E.L.D. after Loki was transported back to Asgard; the incident having bonded them possibly even more.

"Stark's still going on about his new Twitter account."

Barton snorted in amusement and said, "I just hope he doesn't overdo the hashtags."

Natasha laughed with that usual sardonic undertone.

She moved and sat down next to him soundlessly, kicking her leather-clad legs over the side of the railing, eliciting not even one creak from the floor, as Clint marveled, distantly, at the way she skirt the laws of physics like they simply didn't apply to her.

The sniper studied her for a minute then asked, "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," she lied.

He was possibly the only person who could see through Natasha's impenetrable poker faces. Sensing her discomfort, he took it upon himself to talk, "The board's still giving Fury hell for going against their decision."

"It was the right decision."

"Yeah, I doubt anyone was in favor of having Manhattan become a Raccoon City."

Clint had abandoned the project and settled down next to his partner, idly watching the scurrying workers of S.H.I.E.L.D. down below. Natasha could see the dark circles under Barton's eyes from his lack of peaceful sleep. She too still had occasional nightmares of the demigod returning; those green snake-eyes filled with vengeance, manipulating her close friend again and having him carry out his bargain on her.

"I told you I'd been compromised," she said quietly, examining her unpolished fingernails. "When you woke up, I mean."

"Yeah," Clint agreed, and took a swig of his Coca Cola. "You never did fully explain that one."

"That's because I thought," Natasha began, but looked down at his black boots. Blowing out a huge, weighted breath, she said, "Look, the stuff that happened while you were overcome— it's not your fault, Clint. You weren't in control of your actions."

Everything came rushing back to him.

_Montreal, a night spent in separate double beds, a run-in with an old contact to pick up new equipment, arrangements made. New Mexico, his Hawk nest, the ice-blue tendrils of someone else's thoughts, the sickeningly smooth release of kill shots_ _he'd never intended to fire. New York, reverberations from a crack to his skull, a blur of red hair, bright light blinding his eyes, confusion, anger, two empty bottles of the sort of vodka Natasha had taught him to drink._

"Neither were you," Barton whispered softly, as he peered at the woman, "Nat."

She met his intense gaze, seeing the pain in his eyes and inhaled, fighting for breath. Natasha knew about his dreams just as he knew about her nightmares. Being psychochemically conditioned when they met: implanted with false memories, genetically and biologically enhanced to abnormal levels, and 23 years old with 254 kills. S.H.I.E.L.D. had later discovered that Natasha had even been implanted with pheromone locks as a control mechanism. Though she'd recovered and dedicated her life to the good side, her past was always chasing her. Former elite Soviet and Black Ops members were always seeking her, The Black Widow, the traitor to their regime... the one who escaped...

"I now understand exactly what you went through, Nat," Clint said softly, looking directly into her deep-blue eyes. "How it feels to be used as a weapon... your body controlled through someone else's will..."

"I...was afraid...so afraid that I was going to lose you," she whispered.

His eyes widened for a moment at her confession, but then eased.

"Shit, Tali..." Barton glanced her way before continuing, "I'm right here, for real." He flicked her arm playfully and smirked. It was the countless banter like this that made their partnership... no, their friendship, so strong and alive.

Clint yawned widely and laid back, staring up at the tall ceiling, a few strands of dirty-blond hair in his eyes. As soon as he was settled, Natasha crawled towards him and laid her head on his chest.

"I guess we're even now," she said tiredly, stifling a yawn of her own. "...Saving me all those years ago..."

Clint kneaded his hand through Natasha's surprisingly silky hair. "You have no idea how happy I am to have done so," he murmured sleepily.

There existed a unique level of mutual respect between the two, and often, there wasn't a need to converse. They could lay there for hours, the world passing by without care, Clint's scent filling the air with a pleasant aroma; always the same, peppermint and gun powder, sometimes with a hint of that cologne he used.

"...Almost three years now... Bobbi passed..."

Then Clint fell asleep.

She froze, understanding her partner's pain.

_Mockingbird._ Clint's wife of barely a year, who had died sacrificing herself for his life. _A most honorable death… that of a true warrior_. Natasha couldn't help but feel a strong, protective instinct for him; having promised herself to ensure Bobbi's death would never be in vain. And unknown to Barton, it was what made her debt to him that much more. She owed it to both of them.

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* * *

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_The path to redemption will be upon you soon enough. We will not be interfering, my son, not even Thor._

Odin's final words before Loki had found himself cast away in the dark, empty dungeon around five months ago. Time passed in torturous, dragging lulls; the burden of guilt growing heavier upon his shoulders, and his failures seeming to multiply whenever his mind echoed the efforts that ultimately landed him there.

The air was still with early summer heat and brought flashes of childhood memories to Loki's mind. But the memory of sunshine was snuffed out by the reality that he was below the city of Asgard, underneath the trenches and magic bound so that he could influence no one and nothing around him. Unable to cast illusions, no ensorcelled words to speak into guardsmen's ears. No guardsmen near him either, for that matter – they grew tired of listening to his bile. The chamber containing his enclosure, small and laden with dust, was rimmed with scarlet-flamed torches situated in stone brackets near the ceiling; they flickered with a kind of hushed malice.

Now that he was powerless, Loki suspected he was no longer invisible to Heimdall's powerful eyes and ears, seething with rage when he imagined the sneer of triumph gracing the Golden Giant's lips. Would the Gatekeeper hasten a report to the All-Father proclaiming that his foster son was a miserable failure as compared to Thor? No, Heimdall would stay silent and simply observe.

_Someday, Heimdall, I promise you, I will return to stand before you and cleave that smile from your lips. Thor's mortal woman is no doubt feverishly seeking to restore the connection to Asgard, and I am already aware of his precious friends. Watch as I use them to acquire what I need and discard every last one of them as I see fit! I will determine for myself what ridiculous trials Odin has for me, and perhaps along the way, figure out how to usurp the Throne from that senile fool!_

His mind then conjured up an image of the All-Father, and how he had appeared last he saw him: weary and almost... weakened. And Loki knew the Aesir blamed him for this.

_Odin... Foolish old man, you should've never touched those spells._ The thought erupted in Loki's mind before he could remind himself that without the dark sorcery, Thor would've never been able to return to Midgard.

The demigod sat on his makeshift bed, staring up at the sky through the silver bars of his cage, his eyes half-closed... alone with his thoughts. Bowing his head, Loki finally allowed all the pain, all the remorse... all the humiliation of hurting the only people he loved flood his features...

If just for a moment.

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* * *

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Tony's idea to help Steve integrate into contemporary society involved a genius plan of movie marathons and alcohol; usually at the same time.

Unfortunately, Natasha was going on three days without proper sleep, and it was beginning to affect her consciousness. Ever since Fury had informed them that the Winter Soldier had faked his own death and was back in action with a former KGB operative, Ivan Kragoff, 'The Red Ghost', her nights had since been plagued by specters of a life she once knew.

"Have I ever told you guys just how much I love 'Team Movie Night'?" Stark asked, plopping down on his white leather couch next to Steve.

"About five times today," Barton answered, left eye twitching slightly.

"It still doesn't beat 'Shawarma Saturdays'," Bruce chimed in, offering the bowl of popcorn to Clint who scooped up a handful.

"Jyoogaishnome," Stark managed to say in between mouthfuls of popcorn, causing Clint to cringe. "I like to keep my lifestyle interesting."

"I've spent quite a bit of time with Natasha and her insane sparring schedule, so by now, I'm used to your lifestyle, Stark."

Natasha paced behind the elaborate bar in the lounge, which had quickly become their official 'hang-out' spot, fixing herself a Russian drink. The tall, clerestory windows provided ample lighting that she greatly preferred to artificial. Lately, she had been trying to integrate herself; spending more time with the Avengers as they availed themselves with friendly conversations and shared smiles.

"Hey, Nat, would you mind making me a rum and coke?" Clint asked, looking over at her hopefully.

She sighed and muttered, "Sure."

"Hey, make me one too—"

"_Make it yourself, Stark,_" Natasha snapped, shooting him one of her signature death glares.

Tony huffed, looking offended.

"I don't know what you put in these, Tasha, but this is my last drink for tonight!" A drunken Pepper giggled as she made her way clumsily to the bar, swallowed the last of her cocktail, and slammed the glass down on the marble counter.

Natasha eyed her warily and replied, "I'm cutting you off." She snatched the empty glass away and threw it next to the sink. "I don't trust Stark around any drunk woman."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he shouted defensively, sitting up and glaring at the redhead. "I'm not _that_ much of a douche that I'd take advantage of a woman that way!"

"You know, you've had a heck of a lot to drink, Natasha," Steve pointed out, brushing a few popcorn kernels off his khaki pants. "You don't even seem buzzed."

She snickered, carrying her blood-red drink along with Barton's over, and taking a seat next to Clint. He murmured a low, 'thanks, Nat', before turning towards the theater-sized television mounted on the wall.

"I'm able to hold my alcohol—"

Stark choked. "Being enhanced through scientific experimentation is cheating, Romanov, and you know it!"

Natasha simply smiled and held up her drink for a toast. The others mimicked her actions.

"_Za vstrechye!_" she exclaimed, and downed her whole drink in one gulp, ignoring the confused expressions of her fellow Avengers.

"Well, I'll drink to that," Bruce chuckled, taking a swill of his Merlot.

They watched _The_ _Pirates of the Caribbean,_ since the Captain had not seen this very-popular movie yet. Pepper fell asleep on the loveseat, crunching her abandoned financial papers underneath her, after the first fifteen minutes. At around half-way through, Steve and Tony got into an argument, leading Stark to set Steve's cellphone's ringtone to _'O Canada'_. Natasha, much to Stark's annoyance, later taught Steve how to change his ringtone.

"I've never really been fond of Sparrow's character in these films," Bruce said, as the credits were playing. "He's kind of a jerk."

"You realize he's the spitting image of me, big guy," Stark grinned and slapped the doctor on the shoulder.

"Tony, do you plan on leaving Pepper sleep on that chair all night?"

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded from behind and Natasha was on her feet in a second, pulling her pistol out and aiming it in the direction of the noise. A whirlwind of emotions flooded her then, her heart pounding, and familiar words started flying through her head.

"Who piled the dishes up like an idiot? Those were my nice champagne glasses!" Tony groaned, then noticed Natasha's rigid attack stance and eyed her with concern. "Romanov, you can put the gun away."

Clint was the only one that recognized what was happening; he'd witnessed it many times before.

_Spasibo, Tovarishch Stalin, za nashe s-chastlivoe detstvo!_ The chant repeated again, louder and louder inside Natasha's head as images assaulted her mind: _a man in a white coat administering an experimental drug through her arm, being strapped to a chair under bright lights with doctors surrounding her taking notes, and outside in the snowy training grounds, a group of young, orphan girls reciting a familiar motto._

Barton quickly went to her side as the others watched, unsure what to do and slightly worried.

"Nat, _pull yourself out_, you're not there anymore." Her hands shook violently and after a few strained moments, Natasha finally lowered her gun. Clint let escape a sigh of relief, "You're tired, Nat. You just need sleep."

They had known each other's sleeping habits and rhythms for years. Clint always went to bed one hour after Natasha did, and when out on missions, he would tap their code on her door. When Natasha would wake, she did the same for him. It had been their strategy for staying alive in Budapest.

She placed her gun back in its holster on her hip and took the elevator up to her room, after bidding them all goodnight. As the doors shut, Natasha could overhear Barton explaining her seemingly peculiar behavior

"...occasional flashbacks of the brutal training she endured as a child..."

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* * *

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"Nat."

"_Nat._"

"C'mon, Nat," Barton cajoled, directly outside her suite. "It's just me."

There was a short _beep_ and the electronic lock was released. The door opened, revealing the private quarters Natasha solely allowed Clint to witness. She had moved most of her belongings here from her nearby apartment. The theme of the room was modern and simple, yet with the agent's own personalized touches added; such as her large, Russian flag above the bed, and Leon Trotsky portrait.

A flash of red hair disappeared behind her screen that separated her bedroom from the entrance-way, and Barton followed. She sat on her ornate bed; the leopard print comforter so plushy it barely sunk under her weight. Clint watched as she patted the spot next to her. Never breaking eye contact with her, he sat down and gave Natasha's knee a gentle squeeze.

"Fury's given me an assignment for Thursday night," she spoke finally, "Nothing difficult." Once upon a time, the Red Room had honed her body into a weapon, while S.H.I.E.L.D. then gave her the opportunity to use it.

He nodded.

"You know Stark's been secretly trying to learn Russian to spy on your and JARVIS's conversations," Clint informed, chuckling.

This got her to snicker, revealing the comical side of herself she so rarely exposed, even to him. "Don't tell him we've started using regional slang, then."

The marksman cracked up at the image of Tony's frustration and confusion.

Natasha propped herself up and went to her walk-in closet. Clint heard the indisputable unzipping of her catsuit's zipper and the ruffling of clothes. She emerged seconds later, brushing strands of hair off her forehead, in a red, knee-length nightdress.

Folding his arms across his chest, Barton arched one dirty blond eyebrow, his mouth slightly bent with amusement.

"Victoria's Secret?" he mocked, earning himself a swat on the arm.

"Because I would definitely wear that tripe."

She then went and leaned on her window seat that spanned across nearly the entire wall, giving the room a dreamy quality to it, and gazed pensively out at the starry, night sky of Manhattan.

Hawkeye moved off the bed, emitting a small creak, and absentmindedly fingered the little porcelain Matryoshka doll sitting on her black side-table. She'd had the antique for as long as he could remember.

"What time is it?" he asked. "It's been dark for a while."

Natasha pulled out her phone to check and replied, "Eleven."

"Well, tomorrow maybe we—" Clint trailed off as the two sat up straight, hearing muffled voices coming from the other side of the wall.

_"...they should really make _him_ the god of chaos..."_ Bruce's calm tone was recognizable, followed by Steve's.

_"And he's just an ordinary guy!"_

Three knocks rapt at the door and Natasha and Clint went to see what the commotion was about. The door opened to reveal Bruce, Stark, and the Captain standing in a small huddle, apparently in the middle of a debate. They were all dressed in their nightwear, except Tony, who was barefoot, stunk of cologne, and clad in a blue bathrobe.

"Okay, if you had to choose, who would you rather be trapped in a room with," Stark asked the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents as though his life depended upon their answers, "Loki or the Joker?"

"Two lethal psychopaths?" remarked Clint flatly from behind Natasha. "Isn't there a third option?"

"I'd take the Joker," Natasha proclaimed, face blank. "Both have scrawny and tall physiques, with similarly poor hand-to-hand combat skills, but Joker doesn't have any additional powers or magic."

There was a long pause, as they stared, startled by the redhead's willingness to contribute to the exchange.

"Yeah, but at least Loki's got motives," Steve pointed out, rubbing the back of his head in that endearingly clumsy fashion of his. "There's no purpose or care behind anything the Joker does..." He paused and then added, "Other than to get Batman's attention."

Stark scoffed and continued persistently, "Joker never even _leaves_ Gotham City. He's locked up in Arkham most of the time."

"I'm going to bed," Barton announced, obviously bored by the discussion. He gave Natasha's arm a quick squeeze, and walked straight across the hallway to his room, unlocking it with his card-key and shutting his door with more force than was necessary.

"I could _totally_ take on Batman."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah... You let us know how that goes, Tony."

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**As usual, review please!**

**A/N: Sorry for the really long wait! I was having some writer's block and wanted to figure out exactly where to take this story. I have a clear plot now, so I should be updating much sooner! Also, I don't want to jump right into the romance, I want to do a good, cannonical character development first because these characters are just so complex and lovely!**

**For those of you who have read the comics, Natasha eventually finds out that the Soviet's Black Widow Special Ops included around 20 orphan girls trained to be perfect killers. They were implanted with false memories, psychochemically brainwashed, and physically enhanced beyond normal human means. They also were programmed to keep from rebelling.**

In Norse Mythology: Niffleheim- realm of the dishonored dead. Hel- realm of the ordinary dead. Please do not assimilate Hel with the Christian Hell, they are two very separate cultural beliefs.

_"Za vstrechye"_ is a Russian toast that means "to being together".

_"Spasibo, Tovarishch Stalin, za nashe s-chastlivoe detstvo!"_ was a common phrase under Stalin's rule meaning, "Thank you, Comrade Stalin, for our wonderful childhood."


	3. Chapter 3

******Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Avengers or Thor intellectual property or characters, which all belong to Marvel. This work of fanfiction is intended to be transformational commentary on the original and purely for enjoyment. No profit is being made from this work.**

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******A/N: **I'm so sorry about the wait! I PROMISE to have the next chapter up much quicker!

Also, the parts on Asgard are my take on what will happen in Thor 2: The Dark World. And seriously, before they announced the villain, I totally called Malekith the ruler of the Dark Elves (lol kind of a Thor fan). I just knew it. So now my story is more canon ^_^******  
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_She's not defined by the men in her past. They all, to some extent, are defined by her, and now possibly fatally. It's about the past coming after Natalia seeking revenge, and the present not being able to do a thing about it. So she's on her own. And that's fine, because she's never seen herself as being anything else - Cornell, author of series, _Black Widow: Deadly Origin

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As quick as lightning, Natasha sat bolt upright in her bed. She glanced around her pitch-black bedroom in Stark Tower, and felt under her decorative pillow, making sure her semi-auto pistol was still tucked underneath. Her nightshirt was clinging to her sweat-covered body, her breath coming in labored gasps, and her very bones seemed to seize up in protest to the sudden awakening.

_Another nightmare._

She looked down at herself and sighed. The agent crawled out of the king-sized bed and padded barefoot to her private bathroom. She stripped off her damp shirt and tossed it aside, then went to the sink and turned the faucet to cold, cupping her hands under the running water to drink. She paused to view herself in the mirror, then opened the cabinet and grabbed the small, blue bottle of Ambien.

_BEEP BEEP_

"Chort vozmi!" Natasha cursed as she jumped in surprise, dropping the bottle and spilling the pills all over the tiled floor.

She fetched her BlackBerry to read her new text message, frowning when she saw it was from Fury.

_"I need you in tomorrow for a B42."_

After popping a handful of pills, she walked back towards her bed, focusing her eyes to the darkness, and scanning around her room. Paranoia was something Natasha was accustomed to, being a top spy/assassin. She was not made for peace or the mundane. Noticing that it was already three-thirty in the morning, she sighed, and let her body fall limply towards the satin sheets.

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* * *

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"_I think it very unwise to trust the Liesmith._"

A familiar voice and echoing footsteps around the soundless dungeons interrupted his internal dialogue. Loki peered out the bars of his cell to see the great warrior Sif, her face livid in the aura of flame emitted by the torch she carried. He then noticed the others: The Warriors Three, and his brother, Thor.

"Lady Sif... To what do I owe this displeasure?" Loki asked, narrowing his piercing eyes. "Rejected by my brother again?"

"_Still your tongue, Snake!_" Sif shrieked angrily, baring her teeth. "Or I shall cut it out!"

Hogun and Fandral put a hand on each shoulder as though to keep her from attacking; knowing Sif was truly a force to be reckoned with.

"Brother!" Thor called, swinging his arms with something Loki might distinguish as worry. "It is imperative that we speak!"

"There is nothing to discuss, Thor. I am paying for my crimes, am I not?" the god of Mischief said, who even in that moment, stood with a disinterested flair.

It was then that Loki noticed they were all dressed in full armor; polished steel plates and metal frets, tough leather-hide pants, and gauntlets made of gold.

"Loki," Thor croaked, sorrow painting his features heavily. "The Lady Jane... she has been taken by the Dark Elves!"

Loki could not contain his surprise, and then, despair hit him. "Odin's condition is worsening, is it not?"

The god of Thunder nodded while he paced anxiously in front of the cell. His heavy footfalls reverberated around the stone walls.

"_Balder must be pining for the throne, no doubt?_" spat Loki, furiously.

"It is not only the mortal woman whom holds Thor's heart," Sif snapped her head up, "Asgard is in grave danger," said the goddess of War slowly, rage boring in her brown eyes. "We all are."

Volstagg added, "War is impending."

"Malekith, ruler of Svartálfaheim," Hogun breathed, "hath been released by the fire-demon, Surtur."

Everyone seemed to hold their breath for a few seconds at the mention of the name.

"For long, he has coveted the power of the Casket of Ancient Winters, hoping to claim the Nine Realms for himself," Thor relayed, having stopped his pacing and was now gripping the iron bars of Loki's cage. "Many believe you possess the Casket, Loki... he would surely slay you in your sleep for it."

"Is this the sole reason you came here?" Loki leaned forward with a hiss. "Because I know not where the Casket currently lies!"

"I do not trust his words..."

"Please, Brother," Thor pleaded, eyes wide with hope. "Will you aid us on our quest to the Dark Realm?"

_Just like old times..._

Loki thought back to the time he and Thor had believed they could embark on the most alluring quest of all – the search for the legendary Lost Sword of Surtur. Hungry for adventure, they secretly went off on one of their most dangerous journeys, taking them to the darker provinces of Asgard. Loki's budding sorcery had equipped him with just enough magic to conjure up trouble, along with the honing combat skills of Sif and the Warriors Three.

"We hath brought golden apples from Glasir," Volstagg informed, a hungry glint in his beady brown eyes. "The All-Father's great power is too strong to fully undo—"

"—but one or two golden apples should restore some of your magic," Fandrall finished.

Sif gave a curt nod. "What say you?"

"I accept," he said in a deadly whisper, emerald eyes flashing menacingly. "However, I will be of no use without my sorcery fully restored. It would be wise for me not to accompany thee." Loki's lips twitched into the beginning of a smile before catching himself, and frowning instead. "Asgard will require allies, for it will be vulnerable to attack. I shall gather armies to build up Asgard's defenses."

"And where will you go?" asked Hogun, eyes narrowing.

"To request aid from those neither honored nor debased."

Thor gasped. "Loki, you mustn't! It is too dangerous!"

At this, the Trickster's face darkened, but refused to break eye contact with Thor. "You know I've seen worse, Brother."

The door to his holding cell swung open and Sif came to face him. She stiffly held out a hand with a shining, golden apple in it. He took it and ate the divine fruit in a matter of seconds, instantly feeling the sparks of energy begin to emanate from it. Loki smiled widely and closed his eyes, soaking in the raw, elemental power and the promise it brought, warming him on the inside down to his very bones.

"My gratitude," he said with a noble bow.

Sif shot him a glare worthy of Odin himself. "Do not feign kindness, treacherous half-breed."

Loki raised an eyebrow in a mocking gesture, pretending the taunt at his blood hadn't wounded.

"Pray tell, what will you accomplish on Hel with only half your powers?"

"Ah, Lady Sif, I do not require magic to wield the powers of... _persuasion_."

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* * *

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S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York headquarters was bustling with movement.

The team started to arrive in the debriefing room, reporting for their monthly Avengers meeting, as Agent Phil Coulson swiveled around in the leather chair at the foot of the sleek, polished table in the middle of the room. A large flat-screen that bore the red S.H.I.E.L.D. symbol was perched on the wall at the opposite end. He merely observed as the team entered, one by one, at differing time intervals.

As expected, Natasha was the first to arrive, followed seconds later by Rogers, who politely opened the door for her. Had anyone else attempted this, they would have found themselves with a broken nose, but Natasha seemed to exempt the soldier from this.

Clint arrived not a minute later, bow in hand as usual, wearing dark jeans and a leather belt. He promptly took his seat next to Natasha, kicking one booted foot up and resting it on her chair like he often did. The archer pulled a pack of elastic bands out of his pocket then, which he fired at various spots in the room until Tasha said something harsh in Russian, resulting in Barton's face to lose its color, and the elastics to disappear back into his pocket.

Banner came along a bit later, and to no one's surprise, Tony Stark was last to arrive, distractedly tampering with some new gadget he was no doubt working on. He glanced up when Phil cleared his throat.

"Nobody panic, I'm here." And with that, he plopped down into the nearest chair, and continued toying around with his device.

The group looked expectantly to the screen, while Coulson pressed a few buttons on the control panel located at his end of the table. No sooner, Nick Fury appeared, looming large on the screen, along with Maria Hill at his side.

The room fell silent.

"There's quite a bit to discuss today," Fury announced grimly, then dove right in. "As you all were made aware, Bucky Barnes has recently reprised his role as the Winter Soldier." Steve gripped the edge of the table tighter. "Under these circumstances, S.H.I.E.L.D. is forced to keep him on surveillance."

Coulson had always prided himself on having only a few expressions, ranging anywhere from vaguely interested to mildly unamused. His only rival in the competition of best poker faces was Natasha.

"Thanks to the Intel Agent Romanov provided, we now know that Barnes' victims were connected to the former USSR's Black Ops division."

Natasha shifted uncomfortably in her chair, knowing only Barton and Fury were aware of the Red Room and her brief training under Barnes as the Winter Soldier. She recalled the time she and Bucky had decided to hunt down and terminate the remaining Black Ops he'd trained during his days as the Winter Soldier. But he could never go back to being Captain America. Sorrow took hold of her, for Natasha knew Bucky was no more than a victim of the inhumane programming she had been subjected to. She truly was fortunate to have broken away.

"Wait, how did—?"

"—And," Fury continued over Stark, pretending he hadn't even heard him, "over the past few days, we've been receiving reports of energy fluxes in different parts of the East Coast, similar to those of Thor and Loki's."

The look of alarm on everyone's faces was greater than Coulson could have anticipated.

This of course prompted Clint to launch into a rant on how Fury should just give him permission to hunt the bastard (Loki) down and shoot a few arrows into his chest. To which Agent Hill recited the same, familiar lines about diplomatic immunity and negotiations with Asgard.

Clint snorted and leaned back in his chair. "Apparently, Asgard needs more effective security."

"Let him finish," Phil interjected, settling seven files on the table and passing them down for each to read. "There's more."

Natasha blinked down at hers; the tension emanating from the assembled group of individuals made her hesitate.

"It's not as though Loki is a stranger to Earth. We were expecting a reappearance sometime in the future," clarified Fury. "After all, Loki's first _recorded_ appearance on Earth was in April 1812—"

"Damn," Stark whistled lowly. "He's even older than you, Father Time."

Steve scoffed and folded his arms over his muscular chest.

"But we have no visual confirmation, yet. It's all speculation for now." Both Hill and Fury seemed to feel the topic wasn't as nearly as critical as the rest of the team thought. "The Avenger's top priority for now is HYDRA and Norman Osborn—"

"Sir, how can you say that when _Loki_, of all people, might be _back_!"

"Sorry, Rogers, but when you're on base, you answer to _me_," the S.H.I.E.L.D. leader shot back impatiently. "Last night there was a breakout at Ravencroft Penitentiary; a clean breakout. It was so well-executed that no physical evidence was found at the scene. However, three armed guards were found dead outside the gates."

Barton's eyes widened. "What? I thought that was some maximum security prison!"

Fury turned to Maria, who opened the file folder before her. Then she said, "The video surveillance suggests they were murdered by undercover agents that infiltrated Ravencroft. We suspect this was HYDRA's work, since Osborn was the only prisoner to escape."

"Where is he now, Sir?" Natasha questioned, glancing through the papers of the file.

"He was last sighted in Paris." Exhaustion now obvious in Fury's face and tone. "I need each of you to stay alert. We believe HYDRA is working on an experimental B.O.W. of some sort given that Sergei Mikhailov and Emma Gale, two of the world's top microbiologists, have suddenly gone missing. If the situation becomes critical, the Avengers will have to assemble," he summed up, and then gazed at each one daring them to object.

"Well, hey," Tony piped up, "this'll be some good publicity for Iron Man."

Cap closed his eyes, apparently summoning the remains of his patience. He had been rather successful at ignoring Stark's antics lately. For example, when Rogers had slept in the Tower's lounge last night — actually this morning — he'd gotten 5 text messages from Tony heckling him to check strange Fanfiction sites under titles like stony, starkspangled, and IronCap.

"Agent Romanov, your skills and intellect are on par with Captain Rogers', so remain on call. You both have historical connections to many of the members in HYDRA since quite a number of them are ex-KGB operatives."

Steve hesitated, but eventually nodded. "Understood."

"And Stark, I need you to run schematics with JARVIS on traces of Goblin Serum to see if we can track Osborn's activities." He paused. "My guess is he's either aiding HYDRA with stock or chemical substances."

"What about Peter?" Natasha questioned seriously. "He's a crucial member of the Avengers and has dealt with the Goblin on more than one occasion. Do we know if he's back, yet?"

Stark chuckled lightly.

"Don't worry, Agent Romanov, I think my spidey senses are tingling."

0000

Barton followed Natasha to the locker rooms after their meeting. Before she reached the doors, however, Clint grabbed her by the arm, and swerved, leading them down a different path away from prying eyes. He then spun around to face her, looking a mix of shocked and hurt.

"Why did you never tell me you two were _romantically_ involved, Nat?" Clint said, gritting his teeth. "I know he was with you... in the, um, the _you-know-what_ room—"

She pursed her lips. "I trained under him a bit," Natasha said. "It wasn't really even romantic, okay?" She shifted a little when Barton's disbelieving glare did not falter. "Look, it was a minor crush, and he was the closest person to me. It was never much more than the mission."

At this, he snarled, "I was a mission once too!" Clint's eyes were blazing now. "Or did you forget that?"

Natasha was silent for a long moment, the challenge in her eyes slowly burning out. "Remind me," she said quietly, "who it was, I then swore on my life, to protect?"

Without another word, the female spy turned away, leaving Clint alone, feelings of guilt swimming in his gut.

.

* * *

.

Sif had been correct not to trust Loki.

With limited magic, Loki knew he could not be of much use. Odin's magic was too powerful for even Amora the Enchantress to reverse, leaving the Trickster only one option. He'd considered the possibility of performing a dark, forbidden ritual to reverse the All-Father's enchantment and fully restore his powers, but was not keen on this. Of course, after having trained under the dark sorcerer, Eldred, he was well aware of this very ancient magic.

But Loki had a different plan.

The recognizable skyscrapers of the Midgardian city reminded him slightly of the towers of Asgard: Tall and intimidating, they left the viewer awed at the marvelous feat of ingenuity. Loki found himself surprisingly impressed at how quickly the mortals had repaired the damage done by the Chitauri.

The god of Mischief smirked and continued on toward his destination.

.

* * *

.

The kitchen of Stark Tower was enormous and stocked for entertaining, like everything there. High-gloss metallic-finish cabinets lined the walls, and in the center stood a large island outlined with bar stools, illuminated by around 1,600 LED lights.

Natasha was chopping up carrots on the onyx countertop with the frightening enthusiasm of a serial killer, occasionally muttering under her breath, as Steve, Tony, and Bruce eyed her cautiously from outside the kitchen, half concealed by the wall.

"How long has she been doing that?" Steve whispered in the smallest voice, not taking his eyes off the redhead.

"Judging by the huge pile of quartered carrots," Bruce said, "I'd say about an hour."

The speed at which the knife was moving along the cutting board and the precise, evenly sliced bits of carrot at the end of it, were almost enough to send them running.

Finally, Steve slowly moved into the kitchen, but Romanov didn't even cast him a glance when he entered. Tony knew he couldn't just leave the good captain like this, although, there was no chance he was getting within ten feet of the woman until she put that knife down.

"Er—Miss Romanov—?"

"What?"

"Do you mind if we finish putting the groceries awa—?"

_"Fine."_

Bruce retrieved his bag of groceries and began sorting through them, stacking cans, cereals, and various boxes in the cupboards, and organizing the oversize fridge to make room for a few new cartons of eggs and a container of _Smart Balance_ butter. Cap eyed the latter item with confusion.

"Food sure has changed since my day."

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent finally dropped her butcher knife and turned to examine the contents of fruits and vegetables Banner and Rogers were now piling into the compartments of the fridge.

"Is this locally produced?" she questioned sharply, pointing to a couple of pears and oranges.

"Yeah," Bruce answered, head still inside the fridge. "I usually go to the small, corner market between Fifth and Broad," he clarified. "They don't use pesticides or any harsh chemicals."

This seemed to be a satisfactory answer for Natasha, as she gave a curt nod and turned back to the counter.

0000

Later on, Natasha sauntered her way out to the fully repaired balcony, memories of the battle with the Chitauri assaulting her mind. However, these did not last long as a faint crunch of broken glass jerked her attention around.

She spotted a rather large cobweb hanging from the protruding roof above, but before she could react, a strand of thin, white webbing caught her left hand just as it was reaching for her Widow's Line to grapple up. Natasha was quick with her right hand, and ejected a metal disk from her utility belt, using it to slice the web, freeing herself.

But this time, two shots of webbing hit her ankles and yanked them out from underneath her, causing Natasha to fall face-forward onto the floor, though she was able to break the fall with her palms.

"_Ass,_" she hissed, getting back to her feet and picking off the tacky strings from her suit.

The familiar red and blue suit came into view as Peter Parker slid down on a thick web line, chuckling.

"Have no fear, Spidey is here!"

Spiderman's witty features were illuminated by the floor lights, and he jumped down to give his old friend a proper greeting.

"Been a little while, Tash," he said, pulling off his nylon mask and shaking his dirty blond hair out. "How are things?"

"They've been worse."

"Indeed," Peter responded, giving her a salute. "Oh and, before I forget—" _he pulled out a folded up note_ "—Murdock sends his best."

She took the small bit of paper, staring down at it.

Matt Murdock, better known as Daredevil: Natasha's long-time ally and past lover. They had gone their separate ways years ago when she'd decided she no longer felt the same way about him and preferred solitude. She'd saved the life of Karen Page, his current girlfriend, from the infamous ninja-assassin clan, The Hand.

Natasha looked up to find that Peter was already through the door and hugging Clint before she could even respond to this sentiment. Apparently, the others had heard the commotion.

"It's good to see you again, Pete," Hawkeye said, clapping the suited man on the back.

Everyone milled into the lounge area, and after giving Pepper a quick hug, Stark began introducing Peter to the two people he'd never met: Captain and Bruce.

"This is our Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman, one of the first members of the Avengers," Tony said, giving him a friendly punch in the arm.

"It's a good thing I came," Peter laughed. "If you guys are relying on ol' Tin-man, here," he gestured to a huffing Stark.

Tony mumbled something irately, slinked over to the bar area, and started rooting around for some drinks as quietly as possible. Peter had meanwhile taken to his room to change out of his costumed identity.

"I'm starving," Stark complained, flopping down onto the sofa. "Let's get McDonald's."

"Hey, I think they're giving out Avengers toys in their Happy Meals!" Pete exclaimed, now clad in jeans and a T-shirt.

Natasha went aghast for a moment before she rounded on the billionaire with a hissed, "_Do you even realize the amount of toxic waste they put in their food?_"

"This is true," said Bruce.

"I could go for some McDon—_huuuurgh_," she elbowed Barton in the side and he let out a pained huff.

Steve was wearing a look of forlorn on his face, his eyes glazing over, as he said with a sigh, "I remember my first McDonald's hamburger; it was the cat's meow... Bucky and me went together the day it first opened…"

Natasha eventually caved.

The sun was setting as the Avengers sat around the bar table in awkward silence waiting for Stark to return with their dinner. Natasha was not exactly surprised when Stark had said he'd be using the drive-through, suited up as Iron Man because, _"it's technically a vehicle"_. Pepper had left for her business trip, so the female agent was stuck with a bunch of man-baboons.

When a still-suited Tony returned, he handed off the bags to Hawkeye saying, "Anyone who grew up in the circus can juggle like a pro."

Clint grumbled, "Can't someone at least get the drinks?" as he rushed past, a plate balanced on his head and two trays transporting their fast food in his hands. He never noticed the missing cheeseburger that had been snatched away with a string of web.

"Already on it."

Bruce grabbed a handful of thin-stemmed wine glasses. "Wine and McDonald's?" Natasha questioned, while he poured the drinks. "Is this something Americans do often?"

Stark helped Barton pass out everyone's food. He threw the McFlurry to Peter, who, to no one's surprise, caught it perfectly.

"Stark!" Pete whined a second later, "You fucked up my McFlurry!" he gestured to the cup as though it were obvious for anyone to see. "I asked for Oreo not Reese's!"

"Sorry, Spidey," he then turned to Natasha, "—here's your _boring_ salad, Romanov."

She took a seat across from Clint, swirling the wine around in her glass.

"Fork, Nat," Barton said, handing her the utensil, before stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth. "So what do you make of HYDRA's latest scandals?"

Natasha shrugged. "I suppose it's not surprising for a global terrorist organization."

Clint wisely refrained from making a joke and shoveled more fries into his mouth instead. To her right, Stark and Peter commandeered all of the happy meal toys and lined them up for some sort of battle. Natasha then realized Tony was actually reenacting the events of the Manhattan Incident for Peter.

0000

Later that night, Stark and the Captain relayed the details of their Avengers meeting with Fury to Peter. The three of them, (Banner had gone down to the lab to work on VOID) sat in the lounge area, a mess of empty alcohol bottles scattered around.

"So, do you think it's that guy— err— Loki, who nearly destroyed New York eight months ago?" Spiderman questioned.

"We're not sure," Rogers said, frowning. "The guy can teleport to anywhere in a matter of seconds."

"Good thing VOID is almost completed."

"How is that contraption supposed to work, Stark?"

"Disables any magic within a radius of about 50 yards, Stars and Stripes." He took a swig of his Captain Morgan and continued. "So, Pete, how's Mary-Jane?"

"She's great!" the young genius answered enthusiastically. "She just got the lead role in _The Phantom of the Opera_ on Broadway."

Steve cocked his head in confusion, looking from both Peter to Stark.

"She's my wife."

"Lucky," Cap pouted, fidgeting with his empty beer can. "It'd be nice to have someone. It's lonely waking up 70 years in the future, finding out most of the people you were close to are dead."

For a heartbeat, Stark froze where he stood. "What are you planning to propose to someone?"

"Does it look like I have a dame and a ring anywhere nearby?" Steve asked lightheartedly and Tony stiffly shook his head. "But I guess you never know what could happen years down the line."

A few minutes later, Clint sidled into the room soundlessly; gaze sweeping the perimeter in the time it took for Tony to finish off his drink, taking into account the state of the lounge.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a _BANG!_ and a shout of, "BARTON!" The speed at which Steve went from sitting on the sofa to rolling under the coffee table was immensely impressive, and Peter raised an eyebrow from where he remained seated.

"It's just Natasha," he informed the Captain, who was flat on his stomach under the table as if they were under attack.

Tony smirked, Steve scowled in return, and they both looked up to face their interruption.

However as soon as they did, they instantly regretted it.

"_My Takechiyo Kenshin sword is **missing**._"

No one made a sound for they were frozen with fear from the murderous rage evident in the woman's stare. This was not Natasha at that moment; this was the Widow standing before them all, eyeing them suspiciously.

Stark cleared his throat. "Isn't that the same sword you cut that man's head off with?"

_"Miss Romanova,"_ JARVIS interrupted, _"I believe Dr. Banner had taken your sword down to the lab to test the unique metal's reaction with VOID."_

Natasha was gone in a blur of red and black. As soon as the door closed, Peter turned to Tony.

"Yeah, the stories of her are true."

.

* * *

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**A/N: Realllllllllly interesting stuff to come! Please review, it really helps to keep me motivated on my story!  
**

**Just a bit of info: In the comics, Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) and Natasha hunt down a number of the people from the Red Room as revenge because both Natasha and Bucky had been brainwashed by the covert program.  
**

**Ravencroft is a super-villain prison in the Marvel Universe.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Avengers or Thor intellectual property or characters, which all belong to Marvel. This work of fanfiction is intended to be transformational commentary on the original and purely for enjoyment. No profit is being made from this work.**

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you enjoy this chapter! Natasha gets a new 'friend', but is there more than what meets the eye? If you want to tell me your theories or ideas, I'd love to hear them!

And remember to please review! Getting new reviews really makes my day ^-^

**[Trigger Warning: Reference to sexual assault]**

**Tiny bit of sexual content in this chapter.  
**

* * *

0000000

_There's no time for romance in the Widow's world_ _- Scarlett Johansson_

0000000

Weeks later, the supposedly "small" project that was VOID, had turned into full-blown scientific experimentation. The lab became off-limits and dubiously sealed. Stark and Banner usually emerged for basic human necessities, although Natasha had started to question the last time they'd had a decent night of sleep. It seemed the notion of 'taking breaks' had long been thrown out the window and Bruce was beginning to act like a vampire who'd never seen the light of day. They would watch in morbid fascination while Stark and Banner shoveled down their food like a pack of starving hyenas. Neither one offered up any progress about their work and would simply shuffle off down to their science lair quietly.

0000

Natasha's mouth curved upward slightly as she gazed at the dangling, precious gemstone in front of her smoky eyes. The Garnet pendant glistened in the faint moonlight; its blood-red body shimmered while the new owner turned it from one end to the next, marveling at its beauty. She glanced down at the neutralized forms of Blair and Delvecchio, two agents of the Roxxon Corporation's NYC facility.

Natasha scoffed at the sight, then wrapped the item in cloth and tucked it securely in her waist-belt.

She had kept her standard Soviet Special Ops suit from her Red Room days. With a belt of metallic discs, containing all manner of weaponry, including her infamous Widow's Bite, it suited her well at S.H.I.E.L.D., making her a practical walking armory.

"_This is Widow,_" she reported through her earpiece. "_Garnet is in possession. I repeat: Garnet is in possession. I'm returning to base now._"

_"Good work, Tasha,"_ Coulson's voice reverberated in her ear.

Her mission had been to recover fingerprint samples of one of the company's shareholders. The man, Alec Denali, had given the Garnet stone as a gift to Mrs. Mason, the wife of the CEO, Henry Mason. Tracking Denali had proved to be laborious due to his shadow-partnership with Mr. Mason, and the fact that he was careful to cover up his trail. S.H.I.E.L.D. records indicated Denali had done previous business dealings with Osborn and what was no doubt HYDRA.

Natasha gave a prompt survey of the master bedroom before slipping out through a window of their Upper East Side residence.

This side of Manhattan was usually crime-free, even at the darkest hour of night, due to the vast amounts of concentrated wealth. The low-income districts were considered a cancer by the rich elites that divided and dominated New York City like the apartheid. The bourgeoisie never ceased to disgust Natasha.

The city skyline had an open breadth that reminded Natasha of the wide plains of the Russian tundra. She scaled the rooftops of various height and stature, and found camouflage easily in the shadows of the sky scraping apparatuses. Her costume, which consisted of a synthetic stretch fabric equipped with micro-suction cups on fingers and feet, enabled her to adhere to walls and ceilings like a true spider.

The assassin took her favorite detour on the way to Midtown where Stark Tower was located. The narrow alleyway had a few yellowish-green lights flickering from above and the occasional blue ones that peeked from building windows, casting purple-grey shadows onto the brick and mortar sides of buildings. She scanned her surroundings while breathing in the crisp night air.

But then, she heard a scream.

Natasha stopped and spun her head in the direction it had come from. It had sounded close by.

"_Help! Please, help!_"

It sounded like a woman's distressed voice, and Natasha couldn't help but think the worst.

She headed in the direction of the scream, silently committing the number of possible exits around to memory: the entrance to the bar, three open windows, one fire exit, and the backdoor of the pizza shop.

And then she nearly crashed into the terrified woman, but swiftly dodged to the side to avoid it. The woman, however, hit the ground with an audible whine, cradling what appeared to be a twisted ankle. Natasha hurried over and knelt down beside her.

"Are you all right?" the agent asked, helping the stranger to her feet.

"Y-yes, thank you," she answered shakily. "Though I think my ankle is sprained."

The woman looked to be in her late twenties and had dark, straggly hair and pale skin, with high cheekbones and a well-defined nose. Natasha immediately noticed her attire: a long, tattered overcoat with multiple pockets and underneath she wore a flimsy dress that resembled a used dish rag.

_Oh god, she's homeless._

Natasha's stomach gave an uncomfortable jolt, and she swallowed, trying to rid herself of the sudden feelings of rage-induced nausea.

"What's your name?" Natasha asked, inspecting the gashes and bruises along her skin. The vital points of her body were completely exposed, and if Natasha wanted to, she could kill this woman without so much as a blink. She shook the thought out of her mind.

"Lorelei."

"Do you live around here?"

Lorelei hesitated and replied, "Yes, but I have no house. I live in one of the women's shelters downtown."

Natasha felt her heart sink. "Come on, you need medical attention," and she placed Lorelei's arm around her shoulders, assisting her as best she could; the woman was heavier than Natasha had thought.

She escorted Lorelei back to Stark Tower, and JARVIS overrode the security system to allow them inside. They took the elevator up to the 30th floor where the surgery and medical labs were; Natasha leading the injured woman down the long hallway towards the emergency medical room.

All the while, Lorelei seemed to be studying every inch of the place, eyes darting back and forth in greedy interest.

"It's pretty stunning, isn't it?" Natasha asked her, with a knowing look.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The famous Stark Tower," she elaborated with a sarcastic inflection. "I was a bit overwhelmed too the first time I stepped inside."

A door opened and then shut.

"Er, Agent Romanov?" Tony Stark questioned, exiting a lab room and looking from her to the unfamiliar woman she brought into the Tower. "Who is that? And why is she injured? My Tower isn't a free clinic."

"I apologize if my presence is a burden," Lorelei responded, her hair falling in unkempt tendrils around her face as she grasped onto Natasha for support.

"_Stark_, don't act like a sociopathic _fuck_," Natasha snapped, causing Lorelei to jump. "Her name is Lorelei and she was hurt. She doesn't have any insurance or money, and I wasn't about to leave her out on the streets."

Stark opened his mouth to retort, but shut it the moment he caught sight of the redhead's incensed glare. He could have sworn he heard her mutter something like, _"greedy, capitalist pig,"_ as they brushed past him.

"Here we are."

The mechanical doors of the medical room slid open and Natasha hurriedly pulled the injured woman inside. Faint light flickered off the one console, and after helping Lorelei onto the examination table, Natasha slammed her fist against the keypad until the entire room and its equipment came to life.

Her throat went dry as she spotted the blood running down Lorelei's thigh. The woman was very pale; her knees bloody and scraped, and hands red and blistered. She was also very dirty and probably hadn't had a proper shower in weeks. Natasha noticed her forehead was covered in a fine dew of sweat, so she retrieved a cloth, ran it under the faucet and wrung it out. She gently dabbed at her pale forehead, wiping away the sweat.

"I need to ask you a very important question," Natasha whispered, trying her best to sound calming yet her stomach was twisting in a sickly motion. "Have you... been sexually assaulted?"

Lorelei merely blinked at her, seeming puzzled by her inquiry.

"Look, I know what it's like," she sighed, deciding to be sincere with this woman if it would help her feel more comfortable. "It's a misogynistic world, and that especially means that women need to watch out for each other," she pulled Lorelei to her feet, frowning.

Lorelei's face morphed into one of curiosity and genuine concern.

"Has... something like that happened to you before—?"

"No, no," Natasha replied, shaking her head. "But almost."

Lorelei's eyes widened for only a moment. "To answer your question, no, I have not been," she said quietly, looking down at her hands, seeming to be contemplating something. "It is difficult, isn't it...?" Lorelei glanced up into Natasha's blue eyes, earnestly. "Fighting people who are larger than you?"

Natasha only nodded.

Once she finished cleaning Lorelei's wounds and bandaging her ankle, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent took her to the guest room two floors below the Avengers' floor where she would stay temporarily until they could find her a safe home. She'd explained how she could not go back to the shelter she'd been living at, as her abusive ex-boyfriend had been all but hunting her down like a badger.

In the common area, Bruce was sitting on the sofa, avidly tapping away on his laptop. He was surprisingly freshly shaven but still sleep deprived and unkempt. When Natasha walked in, he peered up with a small smile. "Hey... How's our new houseguest?"

"She'll be all right."

A moment later, the scrape of a shoe sounded from behind. Tensing, she turned and found Clint regarding her from the archway; His face was a mix of skepticism and pity.

"So... Stark tells me you found a stranger on the street and decided to bring them into Avengers HQ?"

"Yes."

"You don't think that there's anything suspicious," he said lowly, "that she just happened to stumble across your path?"

Bruce seemed to recognize the conflict arising between them since he sunk lower into the couch and covered his face with the laptop screen.

"There are thousands of homeless people in New York, Clint," she argued. "Don't be ridiculous."

Barton continued to stare, his mouth open in astonishment. "You didn't think this through, Tasha. She could compromise us all."

The doctor sank even lower into the cushions.

Natasha felt irritation stir within her at Clint's words and something within her snapped. "SO, WHAT? You would prefer me to leave her?" she yelled, the anger rising within her. "Contrary to popular belief, I _do_ have a moral compass, Barton!"

With that, Natasha turned on heel and stormed out, heading for the elevator. As the elevator doors closed, she caught a glimpse of Clint appearing from the common area, shouting her name, but she ignored him, and jabbed at the glowing number '8' with her slim finger until the doors were firmly shut.

.

* * *

.

Instead of heading to her room, Natasha descended to the industrial-sized training room Stark had had installed specifically for the Avengers. She entered the shooting-range and began working her way through at least a dozen simulations with her 9mm. The range was just as high-tech as everything else in Stark Tower – with holographic 3D projections of different, customizable content and surround sound. This one was far less realistic to the one at S.H.I.E.L.D., but Natasha knew this was because of Stark's aversion to lethal weaponry.

Twisting manically from left to right, Natasha went for crit, after crit, after crit, until she was stopped by the dull clicking of her trigger. She was reaching for spare cartridges when a voice sounded over the intercom: "Nat?"

Natasha whirled around, gun still raised, to find Barton standing behind the glass at the opposite end of the room.

"End simulation," she muttered, slamming her gun back into its holster as the lights went up. She exited to join Clint outside. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and one leg bent at the knee. A sheepish look covered his face. Natasha questioned, "What are you doing down here?"

"I— Look, I wanted to apologize for being a douche," he said as he fell into step beside her. "I thought maybe you'd like a sparring session?"

Natasha smiled.

.

* * *

.

At seven, he arrived, and she was waiting for him by her locker.

They prepared for the night together, just like usual. It was a sort of ritual bonding for Natasha and Clint — one last, thorough check over their partner, before separating off into their respective positions for the mission. Just like many nights before, Natasha double checked all of the straps and harnesses on his suit, and Clint zipped her into the lavender, sequin fabric dress.

Natasha smirked a bit, as she fixed the edge of the blade strapped to her thigh, and secured her trusty Makarova pistol. She then added the finishing touch: A small, detonator disguised as a thick bangle on one wrist.

Earlier that day, she had examined Lorelei's injuries, given her some fresh clothes to borrow and let known she'd be back later; she appeared to be very understanding of the circumstances. The Captain and Stark had only agreed to leave the Tower if security was enhanced (as if it weren't already enough) and JARVIS kept an eye on Lorelei, not allowing her to leave the guest floor. Natasha thought they were being a bit too paranoid. And that was saying something coming from her.

Clint watched her through his spotting scope as she pulled the canary-yellow Lamborghini up to the front of the Ritz Carlton, knowing that she found his invisible presence comforting. The marksman loved it when not taking his eyes off of Natasha was part of his job description.

Once inside, Natasha pulled on her Widow Lenses and activated the sonar to detect her position and map out her environment. Her vision became pale blue and grey, exposing superhuman detail.

_"Ten degrees south-southwest,"_ Barton clarified, using the sonar program on his StarkPad. _"Three meters and there should be a door."_ She moved through the building on Clint's say-so, turning corners and taking stairs at a dead run, the safety off on her Beretta 92F and an extra throwing knife tucked in along her calf.

_"Widow, this is Spectre, Delta Team five-by-five and waiting on your call."_

"Copy," she said through the earpiece. "Hawkeye, I've found the entrance to the air ducts. I'm going in."

Natasha climbed onto a nearby bookshelf and sprang towards the opening of the duct. She pried the metal grating off, pulling herself up in the process, and began crawling through the passage, trying to ignore the cobwebs and dead insects.

_"Make a right at the next junction,"_ Clint directed. _"—Left, then two meters straight."_

"Ugh, why do I always have to be the one that crawls through the tight places?"Natasha asked rhetorically, grimacing as she passed a few dead cockroaches.

Barton chuckled. _"Because you're the tiniest and most agile."_

After what seemed like an eon, she reached her destination. She peered down through the slits of the grate.

_"There're about nine OsCorp SWAT guys here, six armed with automatics," _her partner informed, _"and three with combat knives."_

Natasha dropped down from the air ducts on top of one of the security guards, and swiftly started taking them down. She flipped off a guard's back, smacking him into the nearby guard, and landed on the shoulders of another, taking three down in one go. Several guns were fired, but she dodged the bullets and threw a few caltrops. Two guards staggered backward from the spikes and Natasha performed a spin kick, hit both in the chest, and winced at the sickening crunches that followed. After no more than four minutes had passed, all the armed men were subdued.

_"You always know how to make an entrance,"_ Barton commented.

Natasha equipped her micro-suction gloves and knee pads, and began to climb the wall up to the ceiling. Slinking along the ceiling into the private meeting room where her target was reported to be, she not only spotted him but another familiar face as well.

_"Nat, who's that guy Denali's talking with?"_

"Azuma Goda, the director of the Hand's Japanese branch," she replied darkly. "I came across him when those bastards poisoned and kidnapped me."

_"Right, yeah,"_ Barton muttered, and Natasha thought she sensed a twinge of jealousy in his voice, knowing that she'd been with Daredevil at the time. _"What the hell's he want with Denali?"_

"We'll find out soon enough."

She sidled up above the two men, grateful for the dim lighting of the club. She quietly reached into her suit under her dress, withdrawing a gas pellet, and threw it below. A cloud of greenish-white smoke was released, and almost instantly, the two passed out.

Natasha quickly jammed the Nano drive into Denali's laptop, planted a virus that broke through the resolute firewall, and began downloading all the classified files.

_"Uh, Widow?" _

"_Da?_" Natasha did not like the sound of her codename when said in that tone. Especially by the always stoic, Daisy Johnson 'Quake', it usually did not bode well.

_"We seem to have a problem."_

"Problem? Define problem." Natasha was on her feet in an instant.

_"I can't control the elevator; not from here."_

_"What?"_ Natasha hissed, stepping away from the door and letting it close with a muted 'click'. "Quake, use your damn powers or—"

_"I mean, from the looks of this, it's a fairly antiquated system, and without a USB plugged directly into the control line, I have no say in where or _when_ the doors might open."_

This was a problem. They had only fifteen minutes to get the elevators under their control until the effects of the gas wore off.

"I suppose if someone has to go down into the elevator shaft, it's going to be me?"

_"You suppose correctly,"_ Daisy replied humorlessly. _"But you won't be alone; I'll meet you there in minus 5."_

Four precious minutes later, Natasha had taken the stairs down to the basement level where the elevator terminated, and with some help from a large saucepan snatched from the kitchens, she managed to wedge the doors open far enough for Quake, who arrived a second later, to jump down into the pit.

_"ETA eleven minutes,"_ Spectre's voice crackled in her ear. _"Repeat, eleven minutes."_

Quake was fiddling around with wires and things, while Natasha kept glancing around, expecting someone to come by and ask what they thought they were doing, messing about in the elevator shaft, when she heard a distinct and very unwelcome noise.

"Daisy, _Daisy,_ we have to go."

"What? Three seconds, I'm almost—"

Quake's sentence was cut off by the sound of high-calibre, repeating machine gun-fire, just a short blast, but enough to make Natasha instinctively whip out her sidearm and Daisy to grope at the small of her back for her own.

"I'll cover you!" Natasha called as Daisy was hurriedly finishing with the electrical wiring.

She sprang up above the elevator shaft just in time. A second later the door to the emergency stairs was kicked down and Natasha raised her weapon, leveling it at the guards and taking three shots to incapacitate four of them (nothing lethal, just a lot of pain and in places that made them rather keen to drop their weapons) but there were, in fact, six men firing.

With three more bullets, she dropped the last two guards then turned and jumped back into the bottom of the elevator shaft to find Quake gripping her USB and biting her lower lip in an effort not to make any noise.

They hauled off through the halls and leapt out the window, landing on top of the black van that belonged to their extraction team.

Natasha glanced back. "It's such a nice car, though..." she sighed sadly and pressed down on the detonator.

The yellow Lamborghini burst into flames, destroying all evidence of their operation.

0000

After reporting to Fury at S.H.I.E.L.D. base, Natasha and Clint returned to the Avengers Tower.

"JARVIS, where is Lorelei currently?" she asked the AI, feeling guilty about leaving Lorelei by herself the entire day in an unfamiliar place full of strangers.

_"She desired some fresh air and went out for a short walk around the block, Miss Romanova."_

Stark had been dangerously close to getting a bloody nose when he quipped that he'd set up a betting pool on whether or not Lorelei had climbed out the window and left for shits and giggles.

"She's fine, Nat," Barton assured, beckoning for Natasha to follow him to the kitchen. "Don't worry about it."

.

* * *

.

_Flashes of a dank warehouse, the patter of rain, blood trickling down her cheek, and the feeling of despair as the arrow was targeted straight at her heart; the assassin finally cornered. The bow's string hummed as the archer prepared the finishing strike, but it never came, and her unwillingness to do what she was ordered to do was evident. Instead, he said, "I know a group that could really use your skills."_

Clint Barton was the first person she ever really, _truly_ wanted. When he kissed her, there was hesitation out of respect for her boundaries, not like most men, who viewed her as just another possession or merely a pretty face.

They secretly kissed sometimes in the S.H.I.E.L.D. locker rooms, and touched others. Clint always held himself to his word: only moving in when Natasha would offer clear permission, and stepping away the moment her doubt flared up. One night in Kyoto, she had straddled him on the Tatami, her breath coming in heavy gasps and her hips grinding sinfully into his jeans-clad crotch. Most times though, she pleasured herself; Clint occasionally listened on the other side of the door.

"It's at times like these I'm grateful for the sterilization policy," Natasha whispered into Clint's ear as she dry-humped his thigh on her silky, black comforter.

Clint drew a sharp breath in and frowned. "It would've been better if you'd have chosen it."

"I know." She paused and shrugged. The Red Room had sterilized all agents; though it was redundant in Natasha's case, since the Super Soldier serum had already accomplished that. "It still makes things convenient for me."

He ran his fingertips up her bare thighs, smirking, and slid a hand under her shirt to trace soft, slow patterns on her taut stomach, delighting in the heat radiating from it. It doesn't escape either of them. Natasha leaned her head on his shoulder, and with one hand, she slid down her pajama shorts, exposing her panties.

"Nat," Barton sighed, moving to caress her thighs. "Is it okay to...?"

Her eyes still closed, she nodded and said, "Slowly, Barton."

Clint smiled, strangely comforted to hear traces of her old accent bleeding in around the edges of her speech. He inhaled, close enough to smell her scent; honey and cherries. His hand roved slowly into her underwear to fuse with her wetness. He rubbed the sensitive flesh gently, and with smoldering eyes and gaping mouth, watched Natasha's back arch from his touch. Clint moaned against her chest, his hips reared up, catching his bulge against her bare skin.

"Damn it," she exhaled in defeat, falling off him and onto the cushions in a motion that would be graceless if anyone else tried. "I felt all right, and then I just... just panicked."

"Don't push yourself, Nat," Clint said. "You know I'm fine either way." Although admittedly in this particular case, his continued 'being-fine' was going to require taking some things to the privacy of his own bedroom later.

Natasha reclined back onto the pillows and pulled her shorts up. Barton crawled over to lie down next to her. She gazed at him peculiarly, and then slowly said, "We've made it work... Around our lives, I mean.

Barton smirked. "Of course, it's not... I don't know..."

"White picket fence, suburban home, and a dog in the yard?" Natasha finished, rolling her eyes, "Americans."

"You remember when I had mentioned to you about buying a place together before moving in here? You said it was pointless, since it's not like either of us really knows where we'll be at any given moment, and then you vanished in the dead of night to take a mission," Clint shook his head in disbelief. "Only left me a Russian tea biscuit to eat!"

She laughed lightly, _naturally_; one of those rare moments.

Natasha and Clint had never had a place they called home. Sure, they had places to stay, but those usually consisted of a bunker in the headquarters of whatever S.H.I.E.L.D. agency they happened to be allotted at the time, or various motel/hotel rooms during assignments, but nothing comforting or personalized. When Tony had built each of them a complex in Stark Tower, it meant more to them than any of the others would probably ever realize.

"Nat," he began hesitantly. "There's something about that woman that doesn't feel right," Clint admitted after a bit. "I dunno."

She amusingly observed him. "Are you jealous, Clint?" Natasha nudged his leg playfully, quirking an eyebrow.

Barton rolled his eyes and chuckled. "All right, I can tell when I'm not welcome anymore." Making his way across the room, he heaved himself upwards, clearly aiming for the dislodged ceiling tile (leading to the air ducts) that he normally used to enter her room.

"Barton," Natasha called. "Use the door," she ordered, smirking as she watched as the archer made an abrupt turn and headed for the correct exit.

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* * *

.

He dipped into her dreams more often than any of the others.

Because after discovering the dreams of Agent Romanov, things changed.

Her hair was a beautiful shade of scarlet; the moons' light a sheet of brilliance that danced upon the strands. Loki placed his two fingers onto the sleeping woman's forehead, preparing to enter her mind. Seeing into a dream or memory was a disorienting experience. Loki only saw and felt what the owner saw and felt. Sometimes, the dream or memory would cycle from their own eyes and at other times, they would view it from the third person.

The first dream Loki witnessed was of Agent Romanov's time as a cold, mechanistic assassin.

Loki gazed through her eyes at a face she knew and he did not: The Winter Soldier. Agent Romanov had seen this man often during her days in the covert division of the KGB, codenamed the 'Red Room'. Loki could feel her initial distrust for the American, the foreigner in her homeland. This man had been conditioned as well— their beliefs, their convictions, and undying loyalty all nearly identical.

The scene faded then, and a cheerful memory playing out in the third person erupted suddenly. Inside a dim nightclub, Agent Romanov stood next to a tall, blonde haired woman Loki recognized all too well from Agent Barton's mind; She was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent as well. Romanov was beginning to get slightly tipsy, which seemed to mean that Barton and Morse were wasted beyond comprehension.

Her thoughts were a melodic blend of Russian and English, and there was a sense of blissful affection Natasha felt for the woman called, 'Bobbi'.

_They stumbled into a cab, Natasha more descending, and Barton pulled out his cellphone announcing they all needed to take a picture together. Agent Romanov immediately put her arm around Bobbi and whispered, "What do you say we ditch the dude?" _

_Morse snickered, watching Barton fumble around with the phone. "Listen, it's point and shoot, sport."_

_"I never miss!" he protested._

Again the scene dissipated, and they were in Natasha's apartment, Barton passed out on the plush sofa, while the two women sat on the carpet in front of the electric fireplace, nursing mugs of hot tea. They seemed very content.

_"I got one," Bobbi said through a fit of giggles. "Best sex you've ever had? Present company excluded, to spare their dignity." She gave the sleeping archer a kick—not ungentle—and he let out a booming snore in response. "Yep, he's a charmer."_

_Romanov thought about it for a bit. "Hmm, that's gotta be Matt."_

_"You mean Daredevil?"_

_"Yes. Those superhuman senses… Really came in handy," the redhead winked and took a gulp of her tea. _

_They both laughed. Bobbi flung a long leg over Barton's inert body, and the three were together in silence for a while. _

_"Tasha?" she asked quietly, watching Natasha's reaction closely._ _"Is there a lot you don't remember?"_

_"Not really," the redhead answered with a shrug. "Sometimes there are entire years missing. Sometimes I remember events in my childhood, but not in my teens. Sometimes I remember it all," Agent Romanov tapped the side of her head, "…with perfect clarity."_

_Bobbi made a noise to let Natasha know she understood. "I'm always hearing some crazy rumors about you," Morse snorted and ran a hand through her hair. She then looked at Romanov seriously. "…Did you really eat rats?" _

_"Hey, you try to survive a Russian winter."_

_"Point taken."_

Loki felt a heavy, physical weight at the bottom of his stomach and was disturbed. The weight was not painful—not entirely—it was as though his chest were being pressed between two boards, the pressure increasing with each passing second. He could not be sure what to make of it.

With one last glance at the slumbering agent, the Trickster was gone in a crack.

.

* * *

.

Rain droplets made their winding descent down the floor-to-ceiling windowpanes of Stark Tower as New York City was doused in a summer storm. Thin fog rose above the metropolitan landscape, skyscrapers peeking through the haze. Peter's eyebrows knit together as he watched the rain fall with his hands setting on his hips, just above his jeans belt.

"How could there be nothing?" he demanded, spinning around and throwing his hands in the air. "There _had_ to be _something_."

"There wasn't," Natasha said for the third time. She was lounging on the couch in the lounge with her legs across Clint's lap. "We didn't find any suspicious transactions or activity at all."

"Well, maybe Denali doesn't have his information on a computer?"

Clint let out a barely suppressed snort at Steve's oblivious suggestion, to which the Cap fixed him with a hard stare. Steve had a tendency to subject the team to old-timey lectures, and couldn't work a single piece of technology in Stark Tower without assistance or written directions to save his life. There were brightly colored Post-It notes stuck onto kitchen appliances and electronics in Pepper's neat handwriting as proof.

"It means that Osborn isn't sharing his HYDRA dealings with his usual business partners," Barton speculated, "Must be serious."

Cap buried his face in his hands. "The question is whether Osborn's a major player or merely a pawn," he mused.

An uncomfortable moment of silence passed between them all.

Natasha got up then and announced, "I'm going to check on Lorelei."

Clint frowned.

She knocked on the guest room door until she heard a "_come in!_" from the other side. Natasha entered the bedroom to find the dark-haired woman reclined on her bed, a novel in hand. Lorelei's jaded glazed eyes trailed over the inky pages.

"You want to come upstairs with us? We've finished with our Avengers' business."

She sat up on the bed, her back instantly erect. "I would have never thought I'd be _here_, in Stark Tower, with you all," she breathed, "_the Avengers_."

Lorelei seemed interested in Natasha, more so than the others. As to why, Natasha hadn't even the faintest idea. Astonishingly, it did not bother her. The assassin loved that she could discuss the finer parts of both the average, 'civilian' world and the Widow's world with a female for a change. To be able to sit back and compare various sociopolitical systems and how they influence sexism while someone listened intently was quite a luxury.

"You're Russian, right?" Lorelei asked, looking up at Natasha. She seemed to be gauging her reaction closely. "Do your parents still live there?"

Discomfort settled low in her stomach. Natasha ignored the feeling and said, "I never knew my parents. Supposedly, my mother died in a fire when I was young."

"I am sorry," replied she.

"Don't worry about it," Natasha brushed it off well. "Let's go upstairs. I can make you some of my favorite Russian tea."

Back in the common room, Pete and Cap had apparently left. Her hands clenched the napkin in her lap. She pulled her barstool in closer to the counter, making screeching noises on the floor. Taking a satisfying gulp of tea, Natasha bowed her head.

"How many have you learned so far?" Lorelei asked, sipping her tea. Natasha could not help but note how long and slender her fingers were as she stared at them gripping the china. _Elegant_, she thought.

"Eight," the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent answered. "Russian, English, Latin, Mandarin, Japanese, French, German, and Italian."

0000

Meanwhile, on the couch...

Clint kept sending glowering looks over his shoulder at the dark-haired woman. Lorelei was gazing in wonder at something Natasha had just said.

"She's standing too close," Hawkeye muttered angrily to himself as he punched the channel up button for the 50th time, flipping through programs aimlessly. "..._Barely knows her_..."

"THEY'RE TAKING THE HOBBITS TO EISENGARD!" Tony screeched as he stepped out of his Iron Man suit on the docking pad and entered the room. "How's it hanging, Legolas?"

Barton scowled, then continued shooting glances over at Natasha and Lorelei.

_Stupid guest-woman. Who does she think she is? Getting all cuddly with Nat? There's something she's hiding, I just know it. Maybe Doom sent her. _He snapped his fingers._ That's it! It makes perfect sense. She must be one of Doom's Doombots! But wait, she could possibly be a Russian spy sent to retrieve information on Nat!_

He was about to jump up from his seat when Stark flung himself onto the opposite side and asked, "So, are you going to pick something?"

"There's nothing on," the sniper answered, visibly agitated.

"What's your deal?" Tony scoffed. "Arrow stuck up your ass?"

Lorelei laughed out loud while Natasha giggled silently from behind her hand.

"I do have to agree with Mr. Stark," she said pointedly. "Are we bothering you?" Lorelei gestured with a hand to herself and Natasha.

"_Not at all_," Clint replied tersely, gripping the armrest of the couch so tightly his knuckles went white.

Tony wasn't paying attention. "Hey, they're talking about Putin on the news," he gestured at the television. "Romanov, aren't you interested in seeing your country's latest dictator?"

"_I haven't been interested since the Stalinists destroyed it, you arrogant fool_," she spat heatedly. "The revolution had sought to achieve much," she finished, staring detachedly into her cup.

Lorelei eyed her with interest.

And Clint could have sworn the ghost of a brief smirk flashed across her face.

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* * *

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**A/N: I know the romantic stuff is going slowly (with Loki that is lol), but I promise it's coming up soon! I want to take this slowly though, so that it's realistic. Because it would be such an insult to the Black Widow to make her fall for a guy (and Loki at that) quickly!**

**I hope my story is still interesting... Sometimes I feel like it sucks lol. Please let me know what you think!  
**

**I would love some more reviews! T_T  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Avengers or Thor intellectual property or characters, which all belong to Marvel. This work of fanfiction is intended to be transformational commentary on the original and purely for enjoyment. No profit is being made from this work.**

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**A/N:** Thank you all to those who reviewed and faved/followed! Natasha and Loki will be coming face to face next chapter! DUN DUN DUNNNNN Hope you can bear with me until then!

Also, for those of you in the US, I'm sure you've either heard of or experienced the devastating effects of Hurricane Sandy. My sympathies go out to those who experienced it. I live on the East Coast and was affected by it, but I'm so fortunate that we made it through relatively unharmed! We didn't have power for a week UGH. Thus, I wasn't able to use my computer or work on my fanfiction. Again, I'm so sorry about the wait. Shit keeps on happening in my life that puts this on delay, but just know that I am always working on this story (because I lurv Natoki!) and won't be abandoning it or anything!

Enjoy and **please review!** Tell me what you think, I love hearing from all of you!

Danzig and Hildanski: Thank you so so so so much! It's really great to hear that my portrayal of the characters is good!

Guest: It was Russian :D

Jeremy: Thank you! I'm happy you're enjoying it!

CP3A: Thanks again so much for your kind review!

Who Says It's A Rebellion: Again, thank you, I'm so glad you think I'm doing a good job on Natasha! I do try to blend the comicverse with the movieverse for everyone :D

Rose of Ice: I'm really happy you're liking it! And thanks so much for the nice review!

**[Trigger Warning: Non-detailed torture scene, the gendered insult, 'bitch' is used by a male to a female]**

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0000000

_I could just use some moral support, James. Because what I'm going to do is **this**... find everyone I "love"... you included. Don't argue and don't ask... find out what this "Icepick Protocol" is... and who's using it... bring **everything** they are crashing down... kill every single one of them... and toast Ivan in the **blazing ruins.** Could be **tricky.** - Natasha Romanov, Earth-616_

0000000

"Look, all I'm saying is that this chick has suspicious written all over her. Know what I'm getting at?"

_"Not really, Sir,"_ JARVIS responded, his disembodied voice echoing around the enclosed metal space.

"Just because Stark designed you as an AI, doesn't mean you can't sense a shady character."

_"I prefer the term 'non-corporeal intelligent entity',"_ JARVIS said. _"But unfortunately, I cannot read minds."_

Clint cackled and continued to worm his way forward. He had never quite understood why Stark had designed the air ducts to be so spacious in Stark Tower, but he was in no position to gripe. Not when they were so handy for moving around unseen and unheard.

When he wasn't out on missions, Clint had been down in the Armory attempting to create a new prototype of trick arrow that released a noxious gas on contact. It was only natural that Clint would then use his newfound free time (when Nat was with Lorelei) to muse about the most devastating possibilities of his latest project. He'd bugged JARVIS to instruct him on how to make a sort of fear gas, like Scarecrow's, but had been told something like that would be far too complex.

He returned to pleading his case with JARVIS. "Can't you just, lock her in one of the labs and pretend you have no idea where she went?"

_"I'm afraid that is against all ethical protocol, Agent Barton."_

Clint huffed, but had reached his destination; pulling out the MB-42 grappling gun that he had never returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. official supply after the Istanbul Mission. They had plenty of them anyway.

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* * *

.

Natasha found that she was _not_ the sole object of Lorelei's fascination after all. A certain dirty-blond web-spinner was the next candidate. She often stared at Peter in a mixture of bewilderment and intense curiosity. But the assassin supposed that, to someone _not_ surrounded by superheroes every day, it must be something breathtaking; almost as though an exhibition of the world's biggest oddities.

The other day, Spiderman had been flinging a rubber ball into the air and shooting strings of webbing out to catch it. Lorelei had gazed at him with a peculiar expression on her thin face.

"Nice to meet ya," Pete had said, and then sprayed her arm playfully with some webbing. "Name's Pete. Or Spiderman, but the cat's sorta out of the bag on that one."

Natasha had been worried it had completely freaked the woman out, but instead, Lorelei seemed interested in it, staring down at the sticky substance with a small grin.

Below, the city stretched out in a glittering blanket of lights and glass and color, the distant sound of traffic drifting up to her like a dream. Natasha shook her head, banishing nagging thoughts on HYDRA and this rumored B.O.W. Linking her hands behind her back, she sauntered over to the window and gazed out at the city's skyline. Night had fallen while she was with Lorelei, and the inorganic glow of Manhattan nightlife blacked out the stars.

The clang of the ceiling tile sounded from behind, signaling Hawkeye's presence. She faced him and could tell that Clint had just come from the shooting range. Like Natasha, he was rarely anywhere else when something was on his mind.

"What's going on? You look exhausted, Nat," Barton asked, his forehead was crinkled in concern as he questioned Natasha on her rather abnormal appearance as of late.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied in an even tone, poker face up.

He cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced. "There're dark circles under your eyes like you haven't slept in days," he insisted, folding his arms across his chest.

Underneath her smooth, porcelain exterior, professionally trained in deceit, Natasha Romanov was still human. Lately, Natasha had been waking up muddled; feeling as though an imp had skipped through the caverns of her mind and jumbled with her thoughts and memories. She had chalked it up to the stress of her latest assignments, but Clint had other theories.

"You were close to Bobbi," she flinched at the name, "You miss having a female companion, and you're trying to fill that loss with Lorelei, Nat. I can see it."

She said nothing. Clint would never exploit her emotions, would never use them against her, but still, it was something she was not ready to discuss.

At the door, with one hand on the sterling knob, Barton hesitated. He glanced behind then to see Natasha watching him, a long dark shape on the carpeted floor. "You're never this careless with people, and you know it," he said, examining her closely.

And Natasha nearly shivered under his gaze.

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* * *

.

They sat in stunned silence.

It had only made matters worse that earlier on Fury'd had another tedious argument with a Senator.

He was gripping the edge of the table like a vice. "This is a hoax. Please tell me someone is just playing a goddamn trick on me." A bluish vein in the Director's head looked ready to pop at any minute.

Displaying on the large LCD screen in the S.H.I.E.L.D. conference room was a macabre spectacle. A HYDRA researcher had just died a most unusual death. Of course, the organization had covered it up from the US government and general public with their insurmountable capital, but S.H.I.E.L.D. had managed to get ahold of a snapshot of the deceased man's corpse.

It was nothing like any of them had ever witnessed; not even Natasha. The man's skin appeared as though it had corroded, leaving dull red and fleshy tissue in its wake. He had also bled from mucus membranes. There was a purple hue to his body and his vacant eyes were milky white, irises gone. Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears, banging against the eardrums from the sight.

At the bottom, in small printed words, read: _24 hours prior to exposure_.

Coulson slapped a rather large file down on the table. "Denali is a provider," he said, jaw tensed in clear agitation. "He was the one who sold plasma centrifuge technology to Pakistan from Estonia." He threw another document down. "He's also the man who sold Toxin 0 to the Abu Sayyaf." Another document. "Denali has no loyalties. He is a man who provides to whoever has need of him. And he is practically invisible."

"A merchant," said Barton, fingering the safety of his Beretta absentmindedly as he remained crouched in the shadows against the wall next to the doorway of the office.

Cap exhaled and massaged his forehead with a palm. "So that's why there was nothing on his computer referencing any recent dealings."

"Seems most likely," Fury nodded. "HYDRA's still developing and no doubt this virus was what Denali was discussing with Goda. The Hand would pay in blood for something that apocalyptic."

"And HYDRA's got Osborn working for them," Peter revealed, running a hand through his bangs. "Harry told me everything, even showed me schematics of the latest bioorganic compound he'd been experimenting for them before being caught and sent to Ravencroft."

Bruce inhaled a sharp breath. "If this virus kills you within only 24 hours...," he said, panic rising in his voice, "this would constitute a full-blown Biohazard, if an outbreak were to occur."

They all silently shuttered at the mere thought. It was evident that this was a bioweapon, an unstable one at that, since it had literally consumed one of the HYDRA researchers who'd been synthesizing it...believing he could control it.

Fury massaged the bridge of nose before he got to his feet. "Which is why we're going to make sure it _doesn't_," he set his jaw then addressed Natasha, "Agent Romanov, I trust you have news to report to me."

"Yes, Sir," she said as she pulled out her Blackberry and tapped away. "Regarding HYDRA Base F, Lupa reports widespread shortages of rations and basic equipment, complicated by some sort of logistics issue regarding the supply company."

Fury nodded tightly. "Did Team Delta say they've been conserving ammunition? Cutting back on their patrols?"

"No, Sir, according to Spectre there is talk of moving their supplies through contracted means—"

The S.H.I.E.L.D. director sent a harsh glare at Stark who had just pulled out a copy of _TIME Magazine_ which just so happened to have his face on the cover.

"Courier service? To keep it inconspicuous?" Maria inquired, her tone casual as her eyes drifted across the screen again.

"Officially, it's not," Clint replied, as Natasha pocketed her phone. "Lupa also mentioned that supplies are due to some clerical error; a mistake in the papers. That information is black-out clearance only, of course. There's talk that their chief supplier, guy named Merdes, smuggles the hazardous materials and weapons in by labeling the shipment crates under food and medical supplies."

Natasha added, "ECHO wormed, _quite literally_, his way into one of the administrator computers and relayed the recorded audiotape to me. It sounded as though they plan to release the experimental form of this virus sometime in the near future on their prisoners in Cell Block B to test its effects."

Maria cringed. She suspected Coulson was cringing internally, though his face remained serene, betraying nothing.

After some more minutes of discussion, the Director sighed in finality. "Thank you, Agent Romanov, Avengers," Nick looked solemn. "You're all dismissed."

.

* * *

.

Down in Tony's lab, he and Banner grinned like children at each other.

Project VOID was nearing completion.

.

* * *

.

That familiar twinge of guilt; the persistent gnawing inside him when he thought of Asgard... of Odin... of Thor...

His skills were a matter of shame, ridicule, disgust – a man choosing to study the mystic arts was bad enough, but his easy command of it, his innate skill with spell-weaving? Unheard of, for a prince to use such power instead of relying solely on steel and muscle! And Loki was frustrated that he possessed less than his full magic, for he would not be able to defend Asgard as well as Thor when the time came. It was why he had no choice. Surtur'd been awakened. Odin was on his last thread, surely they would understand...

_Thor_. Merely thinking of his oafish brother made Loki's blood boil.

Thor loved to tell harrowing stories of his brave and honorable battles, but he always diminished Loki's part in them and exaggerated his own. Once, he'd been recounting a tale of how the Golems of the East had used children to pass messages, how they'd believed they were clever, but how he had all the treasonous little cretins rooted out. He'd told how the leader himself had been decapitated on the very steps to their fortress, the righteous fury of a taunted prince, Loki yelling encouragement at his heels.

The story changed with every telling. More and more giants. A fight on top of the mountains. The ferocious leader, how huge he was, breathing hideously behind his war mask.

_At least my brother fights half as well as he talks_, thought Loki, cynically.

The god of Mischief silently crept into the living room, where he found her asleep on a sofa, looking strangely vulnerable. Agent Romanov's hands were folded to provide protection for her head; mouth slightly ajar, her chest rose and fell with each breath. Loki could not help but note the way the moonlight casted an ethereal glow around her, and how her scarlet hair, so bright and energetic, contrasted beautifully with the black leather of the couch.

She shifted and her nightgown hitched up a bit, revealing a slight amount of pale skin. Loki's eyebrows went up at the sight of the gun holster firmly strapped around one thigh. He wasn't surprised in the least, but was quick to log, for future reference, that she consistently kept a loaded weapon in hand's reach. Ever cautious, no wonder her repertoire was extensive. A rose with thorns; _How appropriate_.

Although one may argue that a Venus Fly Trap would be a more fitting analogy.

0000

Sorrow was a familiar companion to Loki when he entered her mind.

_"Natalia, dearest, you will make the homeland proud." _

_A young Natasha looked up at the frigid-eyed man, Ivan, who was as close to a parental figure as she had. Intense emotions were coursing through her: Loki felt her certainty that their country was destined for greatness, and that this man loved her as though she were his own daughter. And Loki felt that pressure again... because her adult mind knew that the love she felt was false._

_"My dear Tsarina, aim for the head or the heart and pull the trigger. You must never hesitate, never show them fear... never show them mercy."_

_Her answer came out flat and cold. "I will break them."_

And the man vanished almost as quickly as he had come.

_The surroundings dissolved until darkness engulfed a narrow passage of an ancient cathedral, and there were only a few flickering torches to be seen. It then opened to a larger area, where dead and butchered bodies were scattered on the ground, a pool of blood at the feet of a young woman who stood looking down on them. _

_It was an adolescent Natasha, bleak eyes glittering with bloodlust, filling the night with her maniacal laughter as she slaughtered all those within sight._

.

* * *

.

The Avenger's first mission as a team since the Manhattan Incident was relatively straightforward.

After receiving leads to possible B.O.W. experimentation at one of HYDRA's underground US research facilities, Natasha, Tony, Clint, and Peter were assigned to infiltrate facility Alpha as HYDRA agents and find weaknesses in the guard shifts that could be exploited for the raid. The plan was that they would head over to Staten Island using one of the quinjets, land on a nearby rooftop and enter the building via zip line. Bruce would remain on standby, prepared to serve as their muscle just in case things got ugly, and Steve as the obvious overseer of the mission, devising the most effective strategy.

Of course Stark had been pouting almost the entire time since he was unable to wear his Iron Man suit. "You know, I'm really not one for undercover work. I'm good at being noticed."

They would pull off the performance easily. Natasha was adept at switching her identities, peeling off faces and replacing them with new masks. She has had many aliases and an in-depth background for every single one.

Coulson's voice crackled through the intercom of the S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjet, giving them directions, while Natasha was examining her weapons as they were transported. Clint watched as she checked to ensure a Makarov pistol, .44, and then finally an automatic were all loaded. That done, she moved on to knives. Machete, combat knife, Stiletto, and straight razor each had their edges examined with meticulous precision one at a time before being tucked into various holsters and pockets.

"Jesus Christ, Romanov," Tony commented, eyeing Natasha's cache of weapons. "Planning on starting a civil war?"

The redhead merely smirked.

Intel collected earlier prompted them that there were four HYDRA guards being shipped into Alpha at noon. Natasha and Peter, with their quicksilver speed, had ambushed the guards along the way, putting them in sleeper holds on Rogers' orders.

Spiderman turned his head about, lime green eyes scanning the perimeter. In the blink of an eye, Peter had caught her around the waist and flung her out of the way of a sniper's line of sight, the bullet streaming passed her ear. Natasha barely had time to register the shot of webbing and the dull _thunk_ of an unconscious body.

"Thanks for that," she grinned crookedly, adjusting herself.

"Don't mention it."

The uniforms fit them well enough and the bodies were easily hid. Peter so markedly resembled the one agent he was impersonating to go sans mask, needing only to add horn-rimmed glasses and affix facial hair.

"_Okay, seven security guards. X-ray machines. CCTV cameras. Metal detectors,_" Cap's voice came through their communicators.

"_Entrance acquired. Would you prefer to be shaken or stirred?_" chuckled Clint.

Stark and Barton used the unconscious scientist's body, propping the man up, to open the secured door accessed with nothing other than a retinal scanner.

Once inside, however, the female assassin had different plans of her own and veered down a separate path. The Black Widow was part of Natasha's soul, her mirror half, that little monster hidden within the body that the Red Room had shaped into their own personal weapon. Occasionally, she embraced this part of herself.

The HYDRA agent looked confused when he opened his eyes and found himself tied down to a hard, cushion-less chair.

"Hello," Natasha said, malice creeping deep into her tone. She looked down at the man through the black, night-vision goggles that hid her identity. He instantly growled, struggling against his bonds. "My apologies," she said calmly, "I hate to be rude, but I am in quite a rush. I do hope you can answer my questions promptly."

"_Fuck you, bitch!_" the man spat viciously, jerking around against the straps that held him in place.

Ever since Hawkeye had lowered his bow and extended his hand to her, she'd been doing much to erase her past wrongs, but she'd be lying to herself to deny she would enjoy this.

Natasha clicked her tongue in disapproval, and stepped closer. Grasping the lead pipe by the hilt she had been hiding behind her back, Natasha raised the metal into the air and struck once, hard. "_Wrong answer_."

_CRACK!_

He screamed in agony, writhing in place.

"Let's try again, shall we?" She was pleased to see the man's eyes widen with fear at that, but maintained a stern expression. She savored each rhythmic pulse throbbing across her palms, down numbing fingers. "It's in your best interests to answer my questions. Every time you refuse," Natasha held up the lead pipe again and whispered eerily, "_I break another bone_."

The agent squirmed desperately, sweat covering his brow. Not only was this man an obvious sleazebag for covering up the experimentation of such a horrid virus, but he was also a coward. Nothing disgusted her more than a coward who would sing away their allegiances at the sight of a straight razor. A leftover value instilled in Natasha courtesy of the Red Room.

"Thank you for your cooperation." The Black Widow smirked cruelly. "Now tell me... Where is the bioweapon?"

It was almost an hour later when Natasha rejoined the rest of the Avengers, carefully wiping the blade of her dagger and examining her reflection in the steel. She then stashed it back inside its holster, and waved the little glass vile up in front of her teammates' stunned faces.

.

* * *

.

Natasha's head snapped up to register the researcher who had just exited one of the many glossy elevators and entered the research laboratory. His boots clucked loudly on the polished floor, echoing throughout the large space. She had been waiting for one of the lab doctors to arrive and analyze the unknown specimen she had, so dutifully, uncovered the other day in HYDRA's laboratories. Stark was to have done it himself, but Fury wouldn't have any of it and ordered Natasha to confiscate it immediately from the arrogant moron.

She caught her surprise before it could appear on her face; schooling it into a quick mask of indifference. Natasha groaned inwardly realizing just _who_ she would be dealing with.

"Simon," she breathed finally, eyeing him with familiar disapproval. "Let's make this quick."

"Natasha!" he shrieked, nearly dropping his briefcase in his excitement. _Here we go_, thought Natasha, rolling her eyes slightly. "Oh my gosh! Wow, I haven't seen you in so long! You-you look great; beautiful as ever!"

Simon Kavorsh was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest researchers, as well as a total spaz. He was _obsessed_ with Natasha—well, the Black Widow. Before becoming a permanent member of the Avengers, she had often "run-in" to him at S.H.I.E.L.D. base; while the Widow usually sent the interns and novice agents scurrying in fright, he'd simply be waiting around the corner, asking if she could use his help with anything. Simon would follow her around like a puppy dog and ask her multitudes of questions, usually including, but not limited to, "_can I have your autograph?_" Ultimately, the kid was harmless; just a bloody bother.

Clint and Maria loved to joke about him starting a Black Widow fan club with merchandise and everything.

_"And they'll have weekly meetings and photo signings of Nat's face,"_ He had quipped, Maria's face twitching with the effort to not break out in laughter.

Natasha had punched him in the stomach.

Some whisper at the back of Natasha's mind told her to politely raise her hand in the gesture of a handshake, but she quickly disregarded it. Instead she handed Simon the vile of unknown sample. "Fury wants this analyzed immediately," she said, leaning against the counter and folding her arms across her chest.

"Oh, all right," he replied, shoulders slumped, apparently bummed that she _hadn't_ come all the way down here just for a visit. "This should only take a few hours."

.

* * *

.

Time passed. His trauma faded into memory and the days settled into a comfortable pattern.

Clint Barton inspected the beautifully painted portrait hanging in the lounge. It was old, from sometime in the late 1700's. The portrait depicted a seated woman, resplendent in a bright purple gown, her chestnut brown hair pulled back in a matronly chignon. She held a porcelain teacup in her right hand and her left arm rested on an open book. Her head was tilted so that her gaze did not meet the viewers', and she seemed sly and coquettish, but nonetheless noble.

"You wanna stay and have a drink?"

"Can't," Steve replied ruefully, sending the tumbler skidding back toward Stark on the smooth surface of the bar, "Got a weekly meeting with Fury." Cap began to check his utility belt. "Besides, Natasha should be finished with that sample soon."

"Dammit, nobody trusts me!" Stark threw his hands up. "I could've analyzed that sample _way_ quicker than some dipthong, no-name S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist."

Clint cocked an eyebrow at Tony from the other end of the bar.

"Hey, guys," Pepper's voice echoed along with her heels against the floor. "It's good to come back and find everyone still in one piece... and the furniture intact."

Tony ambled over to greet her with a glass of amber liquid clutched in one fist. He wrapped an arm around her waist and they kissed; Stark whispered something into Pepper's ear, causing her to giggle and blush fiercely.

Cap looked away and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Where's Natasha?" Clint asked suddenly. "I haven't seen her since lunch!"

"Hey, you two should check out the BlackHawk fan fiction sites... err, Clintasha... or was it Blackeye...? The latter seems more relevant for Natasha anyway." When Barton sent Stark a volatile glare, he finally answered, "She went in the guest room to check up on Lorelei."

Clint gaped.

_That harlot! She dare try and take people away from right under my nose? She's purposely trying to separate me from Natasha! That way, she can get her all by herself, caught off guard, and hook her sharp little claws in Nat!_

After making a crack about 'Pepperony' (receiving a middle finger from Tony), he strode over to the guest room, and was about to knock on the door when it opened to reveal Lorelei, attired in one of Natasha's plain T-shirts and jeans. She wore a knowing look that Clint had come to despise.

"Why Agent Barton, this is a surprise—"

"Don't play games with me!"

She cocked her head slightly and raised her eyebrows.

"Where the hell is Natasha?"

"You _know_," she stated, flipping her long, dark hair back elegantly, "stalking Agent Romanov only shows a gross lack of respect for her personal boundaries."

"_Ho ho!_" he let out a triumphant cackle. Hawkeye could see what she was trying to do; she believed him oblivious, blind, but he was well aware. "I'm onto you, you-you wily temptress!"

As the she-demon was closing the door, she muttered, "_Stupid, yellow-haired monkey._"

Clint immediately shoved his shoulder into the door to prevent it from shutting. "What did you just say?" he hissed at Lorelei.

"You heard me," she quipped with a smirk; A smirk that looked oddly familiar to Hawkeye and made his skin crawl. "Agent Barton," when she said his name, those vibrant green eyes flashed with something sinister.

"Oh for the love of—!" Natasha, in a shocking blur of crimson hair, was in between them with outstretched arms, shooting angry glances at Clint. "Really? Clint, really? Are you five—?"

"Indeed. _Tasha_—" Lorelei emphasized the use of her nickname "—and I were having a _lovely_ time before you so rudely strut yourself in here."

Barton's mouth was wide open as far as it could go, and his arms hung down at his sides with his hands balled into fists. The sight reminded Natasha of a rabid animal.

He growled, taking a step closer, pointing at Lorelei from over the redhead's shoulder, "I do _not_ 'strut'."

"Enough," Natasha ordered, "I'm going to give you _five_ seconds to start heading to your room, Barton, and I will meet you there," her voice impossibly calm yet still impossibly terrifying.

Whatever she had expected to witness inside Barton's room, _this_ was not it. Natasha refrained from saying anything, just watched Clint circle the pile of long, spindly branches stacked in the center of his room like an oversized bird's nest. She was wearing an expression that, to anyone else, would look placid and serene. He knew she was trying desperately not to burst out in laughter.

"_That complete..._" Clint had a word on the tip of his tongue but voicing it would have resulted in provoking Natasha's wrath... "How did she even get in here?"

Clint's bedroom was much less interesting than hers'; his few possessions were tucked into a variety of nooks and shelves, along with a number of books, tools, a wall of weaponry, and laptop. His double bed was simple: navy blue with cotton comforter and two pillows. Natasha never understood how the man could sleep with any less than five pillows.

"She's tainted my stuff, Nat!" He was circling the makeshift nest as though it was a cleverly devised trap, and some sort of bomb would go off at any given moment. "—Oh-oh my _fucking_ god! Birdseed. BIRDSEED! There's _birdseed_ scattered over here!"

Sure enough, there was a line of tiny, kernelled seeds spread around the far corner of his room. A note was attached to the wall above it that read: _"So you didn't go hungry during the night"_. This was, of course, just insult on top of the injury of the already humiliating prank.

"She thinks she's so clever, doesn't she?" Barton seethed through his teeth, fists clenching and unclenching. "I'm gonna fill her fucking _drawers_ with bird feathers and—no, bird _shit..._," he trailed off, plotting more revenge tactics on Lorelei, "...make her room a bird bath... see how _she_ likes it..."

Finally, Natasha started to snicker, clearly enjoying this way too much. "At least she didn't put bars on your windows."

Clint shot her a withering look. "Whose side are you on anyway?"

Natasha scoffed, rolled her eyes and made for the exit; Barton stormed away, muttering a steady string of complaints under his breath as she left, his quiet words fizzling into silence. However, once outside in the hallway, she nearly collided into Stark and Rogers.

Tony pointed an accusatory finger at Natasha. "You. I can only assume you knew about _this_...," He waved a hand toward Hawkeye's door; she could now hear brash movements coming from inside accompanied by heated and masculine muttering that sounded like venom, even if it was just muffled nonsense behind the door, "...Trick?"

"I never pegged you as the type to enjoy pranks, Natasha," Cap chuckled, resting his hands on his hips.

"Oh Captain, my Captain," she replied dryly, a hand over her heart. "Thank you, but if you guys are insinuating that I helped, I'm sorry to disappoint, but I did not."

"Uh-huh," Tony said flippantly, walking off. "The master assassin doesn't want to admit she has a comical side."

Natasha decided to ignore the man. She turned towards Rogers then.

"How've you been handling everything?" He asked, looking concerned. "You seemed... _different_, when we got back from that mission..." Steve shuffled his feet slightly, seeming to know more than the others.

Her heart clenched for a moment. The last thing Natasha needed was the Captain knowing how she _really_ had obtained that highly-secured sample from HYDRA. If her teammates found out...No, she didn't even want to _think_ about that. They'd never accept her.

"You're okay, right?" Steve asked with sympathetic eyes. "I mean, just seems like your life revolves around taking orders from either Fury or me and going undercover." The two began making their way towards the common area, side by side. "Don't you ever want something, you know, _more_?"

Natasha waved him off, thankful that he dropped the original topic. "I've never known anything else. Besides, I don't want any other life. I dislike children. I dislike houses. I dislike normalcy," she finished with a shrug of her petite shoulders.

Cap nodded. "I had thought I was going to see the end of the war... I'd have served my country and hoped to go on living the American Dream. You know, a big house with the white picket fence...kids...a dog..."

Since the knowledge of HYDRA's activities, Natasha's sleeping pattern had deteriorated and hidden itself under the floorboards. Steve was being affected the worst though. Sometimes, they would find each other in the kitchen during the lonely hours before dawn. They would sip lukewarm coffee and pass the time with only a handful of sentences between them, and although neither of them would ever admit it, their odd routine became something of comfort.

And oftentimes, with the unspoken promise of confidentiality, the Captain would open up about Peggy. In return, Natasha had shared a few of her memories with Bucky, a man who was a part of _both_ of their histories.

They had come to establish an almost-sibling bond with each other. The assassin found herself surprisingly agreeable to this.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading! Please review :D Om nom nom reviews  
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